


For the Want of a Nail

by MorpheusEnMemori (Its_Darling)



Series: Transition [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysphoria, M/M, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, Trans!Spy, both the transmen are on the BLU team, eventual sex and smut, nor will every topic have a nice and easy introduction, tbh the slowest of slow burns, this won't shy away from things like pregnancy, trans!Sniper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 01:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_Darling/pseuds/MorpheusEnMemori
Summary: It all starts with a problem Spy was more than certain sorted itself out with time.When it resurfaces, he’s faced with more than just the risk of exposure, he’s faced with the reality of the disconnect between his mind and body, a problem he has shoved deep within. An unlikely ally helps him sort through these feelings.Inspired by AnnetheCatDetective’s Masculinity Verse(constructive criticism encouraged)Abandoned/to be completely rewritten





	1. The Incident- (RED Sniper)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chesterfield Cigarettes, The Saturday Evening Post, and Masculinity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008283) by [AnnetheCatDetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective). 



> I’m just really curious how well this will be received. Currently the Bakery AU needs finishing and I try to make a habit of not starting too many projects. But, this idea will probably be written next (or another Bakery AU with a focus on slice-of-life relationships, who knows). I guess have a chapter where you're not certain what's gonna happen next? (I planned out to chapter 3 and I got stuck ._. but there's an idea here, it just needs baking. And research on maps because I don't know which base this is yet :D )  
> Sometime later I may throw in more details.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's in the refrigerator?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update 11/3  
> the restructuring begins.  
> This is now the first chapter  
> the second chapter will continue where this leaves off.

                There wasn’t much going on with the day. A typical furlough, but Sniper wasn’t a fool to go out. The heat was overbearing today, that was what prompted the time off. Record highs, according to what he heard from a memo. Too hot to work on his Winnebago, not even the BLU Sniper left, he could see his campervan poking out from his usual spot from the BLU base a distance away. He was fine with lounging in the sun, his rifle nearby in case the local desert wildlife decided to wander close enough.

                But something about this day was odd.

                No, something about this _month_ was off.

                BLU has done terribly the entire month. This wasn’t an accident, nor was it a coincidence. Sniper sorted it out after a week, the BLU Spy was missing. He figured the Spook would be back relatively soon, it wasn’t uncommon for someone to be pulled away on a mission for Miss Pauling for two weeks. Then the two weeks passed and…

                Sniper gotten no answers, none he could get without sounding suspicious. Sure, he was vocal about not being backstabbed as often, made it sound like he was relieved. And no one particularly bat an eye at it. As much as the BLU Spy was a bastard, he done wonders to keep Sniper on edge. Almost felt like he lost a friend you never spoke to, one that seeks to better you and themselves at the same time. Admitting that would be akin to treason, if anything could be garnered by Demo’s previous experience. It made the teams on edge, since they discovered any sort of friendship would be taken the wrong way.

                Never particularly stopped either Spy from what he garnered. ‘Because I could’ was what Spy told him. Though Sniper thinks Spy probably hates the fact the BLU Sniper absolutely loathes him and makes it well known. No one would mention what made their overly friendly rivalry crumble. And, as though Spy hears his thoughts, Sniper hears the sound of a cloak disengaging.

                “Monsieur Mundy.” he hears.

                Sniper sits up, looking to his left side to see the Spy. His teammate doesn’t have his usual expression of mild irritation, one comment away from stabbing everyone for their stupidity. Spy was significantly more reserved, and… maybe he found something beyond what he wasn’t supposed to look at.

                “Spy?” Sniper asks.

                “You wouldn’t happen to know where the BLU Spy has gone, would you?” Spy asks.

                “What kind of a question is that? What makes you think I have any idea where the sod went off to? If anything, that’d be your specialty.” Sniper says.

                Either Spy suspected Sniper had something to do with this.  
                Or Spy thought he could trust Sniper with his suspicions.

                It’s not that the two of them didn’t get along. Being on the same team, there were times that they sorted out their misgivings and worked towards the ‘greater good’ that was victory. Spy did not make it easy to be anywhere near semblance of friends was his big problem. He tried, in many instances and Sniper did appreciate it.  
                But Spy can be a real cunt.

                “Oui. It is.” Spy says, “And I have a suspicion.”

                “So you have no idea.” Sniper says.

                “Non. From my research, respawn at the BLU base has not picked up anything, other than peculiar health status that is confusing the machine. Miss Pauling has confirmed that he is not on a long mission, but I do believe she’s aware of where he is. That, and I spoke with Heavy.” Spy says, “There’s a strange voice in the docteur’s refrigerator that asks him to ‘kill me,’ but I suspect there’s more to what he says.”

                Option two then. Spy trusted Sniper with his suspicions. The last bit is probably the lead Spy wants to check on, but going alone into the Medic’s lab... Well, after that baboon heart incident, Sniper hardly blamed him.

                “Alright. So our shoddy Medic might be to blame.” Sniper says, “Why do you care?”

                “Honestly?” Spy asks, “The man is good at what he does. I would hate to lose him to an inferior Spy. I know who’s on the top of the consideration list, and believe me… no one wants _him_ here.”

                Well, it was a reason…  
                Sniper considers this for a moment. He rises out of his seat, stashing his kukri in his hilt. It would serve him, in case this was BLU in disguise. Spy leads the way inside the base, keeping silent as they pass by the group that congregates to the only working A/C unit in the rec room. Even the Medic was there, languishing with the Heavy Weapon’s Expert. The other three must’ve broken again, poor Truckie was more than likely working around the clock to keep one up.  
                Getting to the Infirmary was easy, the door wasn’t even locked. Though, Spy seemed significantly on edge, he wouldn’t even get near the refrigerator. Did not help there was a headless body on the table, and while neither of them could particularly tell much about it, Sniper concluded the body was feminine. Helped there was a sheet over it, he supposed. Creepy all the same.

                Spy got Sniper here, more than likely lied about how much he was aware of… bloody piker. Well, they’re here. Sniper doesn’t hesitate, walking to the item of interest, and opens the door.

                “… Kill me?” he hears.

                Sniper couldn’t help himself, he closed the door back and looks to Spy.

                “Mate.” Sniper says.

                “Oh. So I wasn’t mad. I can never get that image out of my head…” Spy says.

                Spy turns, moving to the infirmary doors. Sniper thought he was going to leave, but seems that Spy decides to lock the doors and lean against them.

                “Now that I am sure we will not be disturbed…” Spy says, “I was serious when I said I did not want to deal with his replacement.”

                “He’s getting replaced?” Sniper asks.

                “Technically, BLU should have gotten him back by now. They’ve been trying for at least a week, but you and I both know they will never get in here.” Spy says, “But they are unaware that he is in this state. More that they believe he is a captive, not that he’s in a couple pieces.”

                Sounded as though Spy dealt with more than a few intruders in his Smoking Room. Sniper did notice his counterpart observing the RED base intently… and should have took sign that the fact that the BLU Sniper hasn’t left for a trip away for the entire month.  
                Bloody hell, strange day this one.

                “And you brought me here, why?” Sniper asks.

                “Well, I thought I went crazy when I found his head…” Spy says.

                There was a lot more to this than what Spy was letting on. Sniper let out a low sound that many people said was like a snarl, snatching open the refrigerator door once more. The BLU Spy’s head looks to him again, and asks the same thing.

                “Yeah.” Sniper says, “See what I can do to finish this.”

                The head was hooked up to a battery, and Sniper suspected that detaching it would be enough. As Sniper figured, the head almost immediately expired. Sniper waited, seeing it vanish as he figures respawn gets hold of it.  
                The body on the table vanished too.

                “Let’s get out of here Spook.” Sniper says.

                He sounded more disturbed than what he intended, but thankfully for him Spy was equally off put by this revelation.

                “There are many questions…” Spy starts, “Another day, when I sort out where the docteur left his files.”

                Spy slips out first, looking around to see if they were in the clear. Sniper follows his signal, following his lead. They make their way down the hall, and they encounter Truckie.

                “Hey slim and Spy. I figured slim was out sunbathing, but seeing the two of you together is…” he starts.

                “Peculiar.” Spy finishes, “Yes, but I discovered Mundy had a supply of genuine Cuban cigars. They’re worth their weight in gold in certain circles, given the embargo. We managed to negotiate a trade.”

                Spy indeed produced a cigar, and Sniper indeed has a stash of Cuban cigars. He certainly hoped that didn’t come from his stash. Eh, if it did, he knew whom to go after. At least Truckie believed Spy, even went as far as to ask how he gotten a hold of them.

                “Some job in Mexico, before I came here. Threw in two boxes of them, said I deserved a tip.” He said.

                “Some tip, bit of a waste on a non-smoker.” Truckie says.

                With that, he waves them off, mentioning that he should see if he managed to get two working A/Cs, but casually mentioning how he failed to understand how all the other Mercs couldn’t handle the heat. When he goes into the rec room, Spy turns his direction to Sniper, eyebrow upturned.

                “You actually have Cuban cigars?” he asks.

                At least he knows his stash is safe.

                “Not for trade.” Sniper says.

                “Damn you bushman! You don’t even smoke! Even if you did, you didn’t appreciate the value of such a commodity!” Spy says.

                “I’ll know who to shoot if it goes missing.” He says.

                With that, Sniper figures it was about time he went back to lounging about. And drink a couple stubbies in his slab, this day he had… Only beer would make up for the weirdness. Just as he made it to the next hallway, he sees a BLU Spy. Sniper debated on what he should do, seeing his eyes.  
                The BLU Spy he knew had eyes similar to his teammate’s Spy. This one had impressive green eyes, and the suit only made him stand out. His expression was unreadable, but Sniper knew the BLU Spy did not register his presence.

                “Hey mate…” he starts, reaching behind for his kukri.

                “If you know what is best for you, stand aside.” The BLU Spy says.

                Sniper froze, hearing the tone of his voice, recognizing that as the BLU Spy he knows. The eyes still make him wonder, but Sniper backs away to the wall when the Spy starts moving. Honestly, this entire day has him on edge, and a mad BLU Spy…

                Well. Sniper let him pass, and figured, the Medic would handle his damned self.  
                For one, he created this problem. And two, it isn’t as though he’s a helpless damsel. It’s entirely possible all the BLU Spy would do is get himself caught again. If he wants to be the idiot, Sniper will let him.  
                He needs to get piss drunk, this day was strange enough and he was _done_ with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (old notes here)  
> And _it begins_  
>  It's the grand editing pass.  
> Expect them in bunches.  
> Expect some chapters to look a lot different.  
> And expect chapters to suddenly consolidate (or parts to vanish).  
> Otherwise, I would suggest you read my other works _because this ain't getting a new chapter update for a month_  
>  You might hear word about what I'm doing on my twitter: @morpheusememori  
> Or you might see previews on my tumblrs (main): morpheusenmemori (writing) or prince-darkleboop (main)  
> I will mark on the work summary how far I am with the editing pass.


	2. Old News- BLU Spy

                Pain was common, it came with the territory of work. Respawn could only do so much, it could not erase the memories nor the phantom pains. Spy uses them to remind himself of his carelessness. He must beware of his surroundings of all times, even while at Builder’s League United where death was temporary. He did not live to be this old through _luck_.

                Only, this dull ache has been around since he woke up. Residual pain? Well, it was possible. Happened to all the mercs on one occasion or the other, Spy would not be surprised if it happened to their RED counterparts. But something felt… familiar. He soon elected this was beyond the usual: his appendix was already taken out, the Medic’s stitches from previous surgeries to allow for the UberCharge have long healed, the RED Sniper has not aimed that low in nearly a year. He thought briefly to his _condition_ \- No. He’s on the medicine to prevent such a trivial occurrence.

                What was _it_? He couldn’t tell, and he did not want to bother the Medic for something potentially… trivial. Besides, he does not _know_ (at least his Medic shouldn’t know) and that is good enough for Spy. He could work through the pain, and has already taken appropriate painkillers that should dull this eerie ache.

                Only, it doesn’t stop. It effects his performance, enough to where others notice. Especially the Scouts. It was his fifth time through respawn, realistically three times too many. As he reaches for his cigarette, Scout shoves him aside, making him drop it.

                “Come on Spy! What’s the big deal? You’re never this clumsy.” Scout says.

                “Perhaps it is an off day.” Spy says.

                “You don’t _have_ off days.” Scout says, soon shaking his head, “Whatever, just. Fix it or something, RED is gonna win at this rate.”

                Scout dashes ahead, trying to get back to the cart. Spy would need to head back as well, try to reach for the RED Sniper. He was certainly on top, dominating numerous mercs. Spy needed to put a stop to that, just so that BLU could have some breathing room. After all, it appears all Spy can do is get caught by Engineer’s sentries, before he can even start sapping them. Honestly, at this point, this would end in a stalemate. RED needs this win to tip the score in their favor.  
                All because of this stupid pain that interrupts him at the worst of moments. He hasn’t felt this way in at least ten years, from when he was-.  
                No. Impossible, he reminds himself.

                Spy uses his invisiwatch, going across the field to determine which spot the RED Sniper holed himself in for the match. It wasn’t the typical spots he’d come to expect, this was somewhere new. He saw the red laser, watching it with careful eyes. Sniper, closer to the ground? That was unusual since neither of them are using a bow, but not beyond what either Snipers would do. He wedged himself between a couple buildings. Only two paths leading in and out, and the way behind him would involve a detour.

                An interesting challenge. If it weren’t for the wave of pain Spy felt, he could have managed his way through. But, he decloaks when he collapses (as was the habit with every instance of this inconvenience), attracting the attention of the enemy Pyro who chuckles deviously. Spy curses, knowing that there’s no water for him to turn to, so he has to hope he runs quicker or someone else handles the Pyro. Somehow, he manages through the pain, forcing himself up into a run. He half expects to be burned to a crisp in a few moments.

                Then happens upon a stroke of luck, hearing a round from a rifle fire near him. Spy makes a habit to keep running, just in case it came from RED. But he cannot feel the blast of flames from the RED Pyro, perhaps his team’s sniper finally found a stroke of luck.  
                Everyone on BLU needed some luck to get through this day.

                Spy takes his time to maneuver his way behind the RED Sniper, who remained at his ‘perch.’ Spy remains cloaked by the wall, sneaking close with his knife poised. He’s only a couple feet away, seeing a slight trail of smoke above the Sniper, then the smell of inferior cigarettes hit his nose. Ah, the RED Spy. The likelihood that he could take out both without consequence was slim.  
                He was debating on who to stab, almost wanting to take the chance to stab the Sniper and accept their Spy will get him as a consequence… And they start chatting.

                “My counterpart is acting… strange.” Spy hears.

                “Mate, I know we’ve just about got this in the bag, but why are you bothering me?” Sniper asks.

                “Just that it seems the BLU Spy is working while sick.” The RED Spy says, “I know you pay more attention than this bushman. I wanted to know what you saw of him.”

                “Not much to say, he’s left me alone so far, which ain’t that unusual. Though seems Truckie’s managed to handle the spook every time he appeared.” Sniper says.

                Of course, RED noticed. Spy couldn’t handle the concern, as much as he’s aware that all the mercs ‘hate’ each other, many consider this a job. And outside contracted hours, most are rather amicable.  
                But on the clock, Spy was more than just insulted at the pity. So what if he works when he isn’t quite at his best? That was his choice! And the pain was not that debili-

                It was never this debilitating. His knife dropping to the ground attracts their attention, the RED Spy decloaks with his knife at hand while the RED Sniper takes a hold of his kukri. Spy watches their hesitation. Maybe it was how he was on his knees, trying to hold himself up from collapsing on his front. Maybe it was due to the loss of his knife and he’s not even reaching for it.

                “Spook.” Sniper says slowly.

                “Kill me.” Spy says.

                He catches them both off guard. Especially himself, he barely understands why he sounds so ragged.  
                The pain was not this debilitating…  
                At least, it _hasn’t_ for years. Perhaps he never wanted to acknowledged the chance, he knew this pain so well and it has been years. He was assured he would never experience such a humiliating experience, not as a man.

                “Oh, _Mon Dieu_.” The RED Spy says.

                Spy glances down at himself, trying to sort out what more could be going on. It’s easy to see against the blue suit. Blood. The smell lets him know it’s his, knowing the uses of distinguishing it between that and everyone else’s. Except… With where it was, it makes little sense. Not unless it was an internal wound. Spy knew better, feeling it in the pit of his gut.  
                He would certainly have to backstab everyone involved, this made such little sense that it was more than just infuriating. He was told this would never happen again. Just so long as he took that medicine, everything would be fine.

                But the blood on his suit, the way it was positioned… everything he knew was crumbling around him. He did not need anyone questioning this further.

                “Spook?” the RED Sniper asks, “This some sort of trick?”

                “Kill me bushman.” Spy says, “or that fool beside you. I don’t care. Kill me.”

                “It might kill you, for good.” The RED Spy says.

                _Mon Dieu_ , why are they acting this way?-  
                No, he knew why. They were confused, they thought this was an internal wound, why would they suspect that he-.  
                 Spy knew he would be fine, that was the only thing that mattered. Though to convince the other two to do so… Why did they _hesitate_? The most frustrating thing! They are enemies and it’s working hours! This should not take so long! He could at least see the RED Spy has a different sort of hesitation, but the Sniper, the stupid bushman just had to hide enough of his face with that hat and his glasses.  
                There was not enough for them to know the truth. Not unless they studied what their Medic did to him. The RED Spy, maybe. He could sort out what his RED counterpart knew later. The RED Sniper? No, couldn’t be possible.  
                But, if the RED Spy had any suspicions…

                “ _Il n'a pas! Tue-moi! Cela n'a pas changé les cinq dernières fois. Tue-moi maintenant!_ ” Spy shouts.

                The RED Spy sighs, flicking his knife away and pulls out his Ambassador. Spy keeps his head up, sighing as he still notes just how _infuriatingly_ slow he moves. Spy was ready to shout at his counterpart again, though soon all he saw was the familiar white.  
                Bastard actually got a decent headshot, for once.

                He barely registered he was on the ground of respawn, shaking as he tries to ride through a wave of pain and the creeping discomfort. His Medic happened to be inside as well, rushing to the Spy as he calmly speaks to him in German as he uses his medigun.  
                Helps with the thinking, somewhat.

                “Ach, I have never seen you this way Spy!” Medic says, “What caused this? The medigun cannot heal it.”

                “I am aware-. I know what this is.” Spy says, his breath straining, “It will just take… time.”

                And a visit to his other doctor. Spy hopes he does not kill the lying bastard before he gets his answer as to why this is happening. He knows he needs to get up, get back to fighting. Then he hears it.

                “Alert! We have entered a Ceasefire! Ceasefire active for 72 hours!” the loudspeakers say.

                “That came… at a reasonable time.” Medic says.

                Spy attempts to rise again, though Medic attempts to keep him down by pressing on his shoulder. His look is firm, and he seems intent on not taking no for an answer.  
                That was not what the Spy was concerned with. It was more the fact that the other teammates were either walking or respawning in the room.

                “A ceasefire, what the sam hill?” the laborer says.

                “I think I know why we’ve got one.” Scout says.

                Spy feels a twinge of desperation, trying to get up once more. Medic sighs, allowing him to sit up. Then Spy sees it. Still bleeding. How? Respawn should have at least fixed the clothes. He shouldn’t be bleeding this much.

                “Spy, you’ve laid there for at least twenty minutes.” Medic says, “You even called out for me, though I could not leave the battle.”

                The both of them sigh, Spy reaching inside his jacket for his cigarettes. He opens his pack, and discovers there are none. Great, he can’t use nicotine to distract himself. He hears the others, their sudden whispers. Pity, concern, and perhaps twinges of doubt.

                “I would ask you to kill me, doctor, but this would not solve my situation.” Spy says.

                “We should discuss this in my lab. I think you escaped your exam long enough.” Medic says.

                Spy’s reaction was instant. He shoves the Medic away, managing to scamper to his feet and run. Other teammates stumble back, uncertain of what’s going on. Medic tries to rouse them to catch the Spy, though he cloaks, using the cover to get away from the Medic.  
                He’s watching them, they panic and cajole and scamper to try to find him. Only the Sniper remains where he was, sitting down at the benches and staring at the spot that that he was lying at earlier.

                He doesn’t know.  
                They don’t know.  
                None of them know.

                Spy would not be discovered in this manner. Not when the RED Medic knows, using those taunts to try to get under his skin.  
                He has not been a ‘Fräulein’ for years.  
                And all he can do is stare at the Sniper.

                “Hey Spook.” Sniper starts, “I know you’re in here, but I won’t bother you with… whatever you’re going with. I erm, I know a doctor, if you’re interested.”

                No.  
                How does he know?

                “Lawrence?” Spy calls.

                Lawrence raises his hands in defense, glancing towards where he suspects Spy’s voice originated from. Everyone knows when Spy has a reproach in his tone, and it’s often _deadly_.

                “Just a suggestion.” Lawrence says, “I know a lot of people from my army years. Seen a lot of things too. Not a problem if you tell me to piss off, but just letting you know that whatever this may be, you won’t get any negative comments from me.”

                A suggestion. Spy could take that Lawrence knew others, the man’s a strange one. But, none of this was adding up particularly well. He could threaten Lawrence for how he has these hunches, but that would have to occur later.

                “Go fuck yourself Lawrence.” Spy says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note, the thing the Spy experienced is a potential risk with transmen.  
> Even on hormones, surprise periods can happen (I think it's along the lines of "not unheard of, but also uncommon"), and there's a huge risk of debilitating pain if you haven't had a hysterectomy within 3~5 years of being on them. I'll link the research when I find it again.  
> (Il n'a pas! Tue-moi! Cela n'a pas changé les cinq dernières fois. Tue-moi maintenant!- was going something like "It has not. Kill me. It has not changed the past five times. Kill me now!")


	3. Nothing Made Sense- RED Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the RED Spy tries to determine "what the fuck just happened" and finds out so much more than he anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, I like y'all, new readers (most of y'all gotta be new, I doubt many of ya came from that Bakery AU fanfiction).  
> And even I was a bit "man that first chapter certainly leaves an impression."  
> So why not just write some more? Because I apparently caught a writing bug.  
> 10k words in 3 days, LET'S GO  
> (okay seriously after this I highly doubt I will support two fanfics at once. It's a lot of effort. So take my gift of not leaving y'all with just super heavy shit. I mean, I think the second chapter is heavy too, but I guess it helps calm the mood down?)  
> (Psst I will like edit this a bit more, it was an idea that wouldn't stop eating at me but I know I could do a bunch of stuff a lot better. Take my humble offering of "trying to chill the mood")

                Hearing the call for Ceasefire made both Spy and Sniper suspicious. Sniper was unusually quiet around the other mercs as most of the other RED members complained about the sudden Ceasefire. It was true, RED nearly won the round and thus missed the winning bonus.

                So much to consider, and nothing made sense.

                Spy was about to ask Sniper for help, for some sort of clarity. And Sniper has already locked himself in his van, only offering grunts in response to Spy’s insistent knocking. Spy debated on breaking in, he could pick the lock. But, he thought over how likely Sniper would have his rifle aimed at the door. A trip through respawn, during Ceasefire? Being in respawn for three days would be a massive waste of time. And Spy had to remind himself that despite how much progress he made in being ‘less of a cunt’ towards his teammate, Sniper has bluntly told him that trust was still relatively low.

                There had to be something else he could look at. He did have roughly seventy hours to determine why there was a sudden Ceasefire. Spy knew it had to be related to his counterpart, but he felt he only knew a very tiny portion to the true answer. As it is for most espionage agents, yet…  
                This was Different. Not the usual kind of ‘different,’ where it would make for an amusing laugh for many years to come (especially at the other’s expense). He knew what kind of Different this was, the sort that was too convenient to be true.  
                Similar to how the BLU Spy figured out he was from Louisiana, and his French was ‘tainted’ by the Cajuns. Spy figured he could return the favor by figuring out this mystery.  
                He’s not one to be undone.

                The closest answer would come from the Medic. It makes sense: Medic did keep the BLU’s head for a couple weeks, much to his disgust. But, Medic was not a man to cross, and Spy was fully aware of what sort of risk he was taking given he knew _exactly_ who let the BLU out of his misery. The only risk Spy would have was if Medic went back to his experiments. He was sure he could turn up the charm, try to get the answer out of the Medic through a ‘non-spying’ method.  
                Well, he could try that first, then do the actual spying method in the middle of the night if he still has no answers.

                When Spy entered an unlocked and empty medbay, he was suspicious. So suspicious that he resorted to using his cloak, resorting to extra stealth that was more than likely unnecessary to complete his mission. Finding no sign of that the Medic even returned after Ceasefire, Spy knew he had to have a limited amount of time. Medic could return within the moment, especially considering his doves, who can be utter vermin at times.

                Do not stab the birds, he had to remind himself. As much as he hates how one, probably Archimedes, shat on his suit… Spy knew the sort of rage that would come from the Medic if any of his doves were harmed. He learned that lesson the hard way.

                Spy recalls where Medic left a great deal of files about the BLU Spy. By the fridge. And the files were still there. By the fridge.  
                Mentally wondering how many screws the Medic had loose, Spy picks up the documents, eying them with great care. He learns more than a couple things about keeping a head alive. As well as the secret that Medic had kept the body alive too.

                Spy slowly sets the files back where he found them, pondering over all the diagrams, data, accurate drawings as well as photographs…

                The kind of Different that was too convenient.  
                Diagrams that show long cleared surgical incisions, marking what sort of scars they were previously on his chest.  
                Data that stated an artificial supply of testosterone, with points on where injection marks were made.  
                The most damning bit was what the BLU Spy held between his legs. Drawings, a few photographs he couldn’t bring himself to look at, and there was even some lamentation that the Medic couldn’t make a cast of-.

                Spy thought on this information, and it repeats in his mind. His counterpart was so much like him, yet so different. Honestly? BLU was a professional, and a damned good Spy. Could give him a run for his money, with his calculating nature. Spy still recalls the photographs BLU took of him with his _paramour_. Certainly held it against BLU, but this was Different.

                Spy knew he invaded a highly private piece of information. There was no forgetting this, taking back his actions. There was only what he would do with it.

                Spy takes out his small camera, making quick work to take snapshots of all the confidential files. He had a base to visit.  
                So much for getting even.

* * *

                Normally, Spy would be wary of attempting to visit the BLU base during Ceasefire. It was more than just the risk of being sent to respawn (despite most mercs being unwilling to shoot during it, usually Ceasefire meant there was something wrong with respawn). It was the risk of getting caught, being put in the situation BLU was in many months prior. He had to, because of what he knows.  
                He had to. Spy was uncertain as to what it was for, he couldn’t say he _cared_ for the BLU Spy. Though there was a certain level of respect for the man, even if it was more than likely misplaced in this situation.  
                Strange he feels so guilty, were Spy angrier at the BLU, perhaps he would use this to ruin the man. But, this. A spy like BLU, hell, he wonders why they weren’t in opposite positions. Maybe it was a request, maybe the Administrator thought a man trained in the act of espionage was better than one who lived because he had to learn it during a war. Who knew when she’s involved.

                No matter, he’ll sort out his conflicting feelings on the matter after this is finished. He navigates his way through the BLU base easily, with the use of his watch to sneak past cameras. He’s more than a little surprised to find others patrolling the halls. An answer comes with the BLU Sniper and BLU Heavy.

                “Did you find the Spy?” Heavy asks.

                “Looked in all the usual spots. I really don’t think the Spook wants to be found mate, though it’d do him some good to see the Medic.” Sniper says.

                “Then we keep looking.” Heavy says, “You see state Spy was in?”

                The two continue to talk, Spy hearing the hints. Apparently the BLU Medic thought the BLU Spy was internally bleeding. It normally isn’t an incorrect guess, though Spy knew there was more than a couple details missing from this explanation. Spy slinks away carefully, trying to avoid the two men and hears that they intend on checking on their Demoman, who decided to head to town to check on the Spy. While they thought it was true, they also suspected he would check out the local pubs and taverns on the way.

                Spy files this piece of information away, managing to get his way towards the BLU medbay.

                Once inside, Spy’s not so surprised that the Medic turns to the door as it opens. He was surprised at the syringe gun.

                “This will only hurt for a moment!” The Medic calls.

                Spy dodges out of the way, not caring that he decloaks as a couple syringes fire into the wall.

                “I am not your Spy!” Spy says.

                “Oh?” Medic asks, “Then say something only RED would know.”

                Spy debated on making a snarky response, but knew that would not go over well. There had to be _something_ he could think of, a small piece of information that could not be used against him…

                “The Scouts are brothers.” Spy says.

                Medic was more than prepared to shoot Spy, though hums. He lifts his gun up, still seeming intent on using it, though processes what the Spy said.

                “You know, I suspected that for a long time. Hearing it from you, considering some choice photographs that spread through our base…” Medic says.

                Spy sighs a breath of relief, slowly relaxing his stance. He reaches for his cigarettes, pulling out his preferred brand. Medic places his gun down, walking to the door to lock it. Heat of the moment, of course Spy should have used the cigarettes.

                “Normally, I would say do not smoke in here, but that would detract from the real question.” Medic says, “Why are you here? And why haven’t I shot you anyway?”

                Both are questions he asks himself now, though he has no firm answer for either. There’s little reason why he should be here, nor was there a reason why the BLU Medic should let him speak his case. He would normally go to Sniper for this, out of respect for his teammate and knowing that Sniper would probably know what to do with the information he found.  
                But he comes here, and it wasn’t because his Sniper was aloof.

                “Not quite sure.” Spy admits, “Only that I found curious documents involving the BLU Spy, and I thought over the state he was in earlier, before Ceasefire.”

                Medic waves dismissively at Spy, heading to his stack of files, of which is completely related to the BLU Spy. Spy wonders if perhaps he made a mistake coming here.

                “Well?” Medic asks.

                “I found out about… my counterpart’s disposition.” Spy says vaguely.

                Medic does not even turn to Spy when he says, “So my counterpart found out. No wonder Spy was pissed and targeted him for three weeks after that incident.”

                Spy thought this over. He was more than certain the BLU Medic had no idea. Despite Medic confirming he knows, Spy had a sinking suspicion that he was not supposed to know. Just like how he wasn’t supposed to know.  
                But, all previous actions-

                “My Spy has not informed me of this. But, too many inconsistencies with his previous medical files clued me in.” Medic says, “As much as up to date records would help, this is Spy’s choice that you were going to make for him.”

                “It wasn’t an improper guess that you were uncertain.” Spy says, “I doubt you would have allowed him to work.”

                “Ja, certainly would have put him on leave.” Medic says, “This must have caught him by surprise. Or he thought he could have handled it.”

                Spy debates on what to do with the documents. Medic has already expressed he did not want them. He does wish he had the originals, but that could be sorted later, when he had more blackmail material against his Medic. The next best thing would be the current state of the BLU Spy.

                “He ran away?” Spy asks.

                “Not sure if he’s hiding on the base or near it, but currently no one has found him.” Medic says, “I could treat his pain, even if he mistrusts me. I hope he realizes this, eventually.”

                Spy thinks he knew exactly where the BLU Spy would be hiding if he did not want to be found. It’s a similar hiding spot that Spy has for himself, and perhaps the most ‘in plain sight’ spot the Spy could think of.

                “I think I can convince him to find aid with you, or your teammates.” Spy says.

                “ _Viel Glück_ , Herr Spy. You might need it.” Medic says.

                Medic passively waves him away, keeping his eyes firmly on the documents, though seems ready to spring to action at a moment’s notice. Spy takes his time, and careful uses of his cloak, to make his way to what he suspects to be the hiding spot.

                His was in the Smoking Room, he started at the BLU counterpart’s first. Though, he had to wait for the BLU Soldier and the BLU Pyro to leave first. It was more than just a mess, one that made Spy’s hand twitch.  
                He would backstab the both of them when Ceasefire was over. Spy could empathize with having his private space violated in this way, and often threatened to enable friendly fire when anyone touched the objects in his Smoking Room.

                Another time.  
                After he locks the door behind him, Spy carefully treads through the mess of papers and books, searching for the little hook in a bookcase. He does not have the chance to open it. It bursts open, a gloved hand snatching the front of his suit and dragging him inside. Spy barely had the time to process this action when the typical butterfly knife is pressed at his throat.

                “Do you think you can come here and _mock_ me?” the BLU Spy asks.

                “ _Non_!” Spy says.

                “What other reason did you come here for?” BLU asks.

                Outright admitting what he found would send him through respawn. Justifiably, but this did not change the current situation the BLU Spy must be in. No, this would involve… a form of flattery. At least first, _then_ he can admit what he found.

                “ _Désolé! Je ne voulais pas!_ ” Spy says.

                It got the BLU Spy’s attention, only his eyes narrow in suspicion. At least Spy still lives, but that may just be ‘for now.’

                “ _Quoi_?” BLU asks.

                “I saw the file.” Spy admits.

                The BLU Spy clenches his fist, Spy knowing just what sort of ire this is. That time he murdered the RED Medic for weeks on end, systematically and using every trick he had at his disposal to put the Medic on edge.  
                To be on this side of his rage…

                “You did what?” BLU asks.

                “I just wanted answers. You would do the same.” Spy says.

                BLU opens his mouth to deny the claim, though it shuts as quickly as it opens. He backs away, slowly and with great care. It takes a while for the knife to move away, but even with BLU having a couple paces back, he still has the knife pointed directly at Spy.  
                Better than nothing.

                “Talk. Before I change my mind.” BLU says.

                “What more is there to say?” Spy asks, “I found out, I realized it was something I was not supposed to know…”

                “But.” BLU says.

                “But I knew that you would not take that answer from me. So I thought of your Medic-.” Spy says.

                The BLU Spy was quick, slashing his knife across Spy’s chest. It did not go deep, only enough to tear bits of his suit and leave a thin line on him.  
                Considering what could have happened, this was Spy’s best case scenario.

                “You told him.” BLU says.

                “He already knew, some of it at least.” Spy says quickly, “He didn’t want the copy I managed to get. Said it was your choice on when you wanted to disclose your…”

                Spy trails off, not quite sure what word he should be looking for. Condition? State? What is the word to use in this situation? He sees the BLU Spy sigh, rolling his eyes as he manages to supply the word Spy was looking for.

                “Status.” BLU says, “My _status_. That is what I hear others use.”

                “ _Merci_.” Spy says, “But, he did chide me on trying to disclose what was… your choice.”

                BLU considers the Spy’s words thoughtfully. He flips his knife closed, placing it away in his suit. Spy finally manages a chance to see the room, knowing it to be a tiny bedroom. One desk, a bed immediately next to it, and only a small bit of space to walk around. BLU sits down on the bed, huffing as he pulls out his cigarette.

                “I probably would have done the same.” BLU says, “Does not change that this was meant to be my choice. And someone else took that from me.”

                Spy attempted to ask for clarification, stopping when the BLU Spy held a hand up. Spy saw the glint in the sleeve. He knew any attempt at asking would lead to a fatal stab. He lights his cigarette once he’s sure Spy understands.

                “ While I get the hint.” Spy says, relaxing against the wall, “Why hide? You now know the Medic does not care.”

                “That is beside the point.” BLU says, “I can treat this myself. I have for many years. Medic may be supportive, but he does not _understand_. And neither do you.”

                A fair point, Spy would never understand. Perhaps no one would, no one on base at least. Spy did think of Miss Pauling, though he pushes the thought out of his mind. That sounded like dangerous territory to bring her up, to suggest that BLU could relate to her.

                “I concede I do not understand.” Spy says, “But, I would not spurn treatment. Or a teammate to talk to.”

                “There is no one.” BLU says.

                Probably was no one. Pyro was out of the question, even if they could relate. Not when the two of them are often immolated by their counterparts. But, Spy speaks with the BLU Sniper, casually, to poke fun at him. Nothing serious came of it… Well, none that he could sort. He saw no reason why the BLU Spy could not do the same.

                “Then maybe someone on my team, if it cannot be me. You seem to enjoy the Sniper’s company.” Spy says.

                BLU chuckles at the statement, even snorting a few times. Spy was uncertain if he made a mistake saying that. Soon, BLU flicks his cigarette away in the trash, only half smoked.

                “I make no promises. But I will consider what you’ve said.” BLU says, “Now. Go home. I already took the necessary steps to handle my _problem_. And you speak of this to no one else.”

                “ _Bien sûr_.” Spy says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apparently really like the idea of one of the Spies coming from Louisiana. And it's always the RED Spy, I guess it's because of Scout's Ma.  
> Also, while I'm sure many people might consider RED's actions a bit OOC.... I know what a certain kind of respect can do, even if they are enemies.  
> (Désolé! Je ne voulais pas!- Sorry! I didn't mean to!)


	4. Time with Friend(s)- BLU Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The BLU Spy takes RED's advice...  
> And talks to both Demomen and Miss Pauling.  
> Totally not a stalling tactic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must really like my readers to leave them without something even lighter. Or I was far too inspired.  
> 3 chapters of a new work, within 2 days? And they're long? What is this madness?  
> After this lovely gift, give me a week or two. There might be filler chapters (in a separate work). But I have written an excessive amount for one week (especially for one work).  
> (Next perspective of this work is RED Sniper, that's about as much as I'm giving)

                He watches RED leave, seeing the bits of destruction in his Smoking Room. As much as Spy debated on staying the night, he would be discovered. Eventually. He was surprised his teammates Sniper has not found him yet… and thought over his earlier comment to him.  
                Lawrence probably won’t seek him out, why would he?

                He _could_ listen to RED, and visit _his_ Sniper. It wouldn’t be the first time doing this.  
                Well, if that was his plan, he needed drinks. Something more meaningful than his favorite wine, to catch attention.  
                Demo would know exactly what Spy should be looking for. It’s Ceasfire. Both Demos should be out in the town, bothering all five of the pubs and taverns for drinks. And getting kicked out of all of them. If it wasn’t too late, Spy should be able to ask either one for recommendations.  
                Spy’s primary complaint of both Bushmen was that they liked alcohol that was nothing better than swill. Which, Spy took as a great affront. There had to be something more _refined_ that his Sniper liked.

                Well, Spy had to get to town, and with everyone searching for him…

                Surprisingly, Lawrence was set to let him pass. He was sitting outside his campervan, barely registering Spy decloaking.

                “Well mate, you look better.” he says.

                The tone was overly neutral, and Spy knew that was his own fault. Perhaps if they were not teammates, Lawrence would care significantly less than he already does.

                “Morphine will do that to you… and, I would apologize, but I doubt you would take it.” Spy says.

                “Well. I suppose you know Medic wants you…” he says, “But. I guess I’ll let him know you’ve handled your own problem. At least let me know where you’re going? Owe me that much.”

                “Wine. For when the morphine wears off.” Spy says, “And perhaps try to find our Demo.”

                “Have fun with that mate.” Sniper says, “Heavy and I just got back from checking on him. Both of them were at Lucky’s off their faces, and with the amount of stubbies and tallies I saw between them, I don’t think they moved. Not unless they got kicked out.”

                That was promising. Spy doubted Sniper and Heavy took that long to check on Demo, though he decided he did need to get there quickly. There was no shame in walking to town, and it wasn’t even that far of a walk, but Spy figured driving was going to be quicker.  
                He only hopes no one checks outside again, or the bushman stops the others from following. Somehow. That was for Spy to sort out later, he takes the risk of people discovering he left the base by car, just to reach his intended ‘target.’

                After parking the vehicle in an inconspicuous area, he navigates through the town. There wasn’t much to say about it, not enough excitement and most people know each other. Sans the mercenaries, though many did not want to know them, except to gain as much cash as possible. Spy knew many of the prices that he was being charged was excessive, though he deals with the upcharge.  
                What does money matter, anyway?

                There they are, being kicked out for the night. RED Demo first, then the BLU Demo.

                Spy hears a certain racial slur come from the owner, and he moves instinctively. He has the owner pushed against the wall, knife right at his throat. A few other town members pause, tempted to strike, but with Spy having the owner in a precarious situation…

                “I believe you owe my associates an apology.” Spy says.

                “What’s it to you? One of them ain’t even your teammate.” The owner says.

                “I don’t care. I will not stand for such vulgar language.” Spy says, “I have enough class to not resort to such vile words.”

                It takes a couple minutes, but Spy does get his apology. With many corrections, until it was to Spy’s liking. No, it wasn’t for Spy, it was for the Demomen. No, Spy was not going to let this go, neither would he accept that things would be fine. _No Spy was certainly not being too wound up, he was being perfectly reasonable_. Spy does the same for Lawrence when someone calls him the prairie variant (no one could sort why that word was so popular, only that there were many variants. Not even the Engineers).

                “You didn’t have to do that.” The RED Demo says.

                It was perhaps the third time he said it. Spy and the Demomen had long since walked through the town, Spy having a significantly lighter mood as he stayed by their sides. It could have been the morphine, though Spy hoped it was his good deed.

                “Nonsense, I could not let that stay unresolved. Though, if you feel indebted to me, all I really want are drink suggestions.” Spy says.

                Both the Demos grumble, something about how Spy….  
                Well, RED said that he was a no good backstabber.  
                BLU stated Spy didn’t know how to ask for a favor.

                “… Hm. I did not think this through.” Spy says, “ _Mes amies_ , I was going to ask you either way.”

                “You believe a word he says Tavish?” BLU asks.

                “Not a damn one Fearghas.” RED replies.

                What would be a statement he could say to have both the Demos believe him? Honesty might be his best policy, though he would have to tailor a couple of the words.

                “I am attempting to bribe the RED bushman with liquor, I refuse to bring beer, and I know he is not fond of wine.” Spy says.

                Spy feels both his arms grabbed, glancing to each of the men. Their one eyed stares seemed to go on for miles. Then he feels his back slapped by two hands, hearing the chortles and boisterous laughs from the men. He barely felt the sting on his back, despite how uncomfortable this was making him.  
                Both men were just far too close for his liking, but convincing the drunk men to back away would take some doing.

                “Alright you alley-skulkin’ backstabber, while you a right bastard like the RED one on my team, at least you’ve got enough sense to sprinkle some truth into what you’re saying.” RED says.

                “No good snake, you could lead with ‘I want to shag one o’ me enemies’ and you’d get your questions answered.” BLU says.

                Only Spy ended up doing the men a favor by going into a store to buy them some liquor. Since it was on his tab, of course they request the more expensive vintages. But, they did provide some suggestions. BLU deferred to RED, stating that while he knew the BLU Sniper preferred scotch, RED insisted that his teammate enjoyed gin on a good day.  
                On if today was a good day, Spy was uncertain. While he certainly enjoyed martinis, though drinking gin straight from the bottle would work.  
                They reach an empty restaurant, deciding to commandeer the patio. Spy sits back, watching the two get back into drinking. He half wonders how their livers haven’t quite failed yet.

                “Would you believe I saw my Sniper drink wine? Some sort of vintage from Adelaide.” BLU says.

                “Aye, I seen mine do the same, though he says he gets his from Beechworth.” RED says.

                It continues on to other teammates drinking habits. Spy was in no rush, he could ‘entertain’ and ‘observe’ the RED and BLU Demo discuss alcohol. Some were things Spy had figured: Heavy had specific preferences of vodka (one of them liked a peach Bellini, even though the bubbles give him a headache), seems that both Pyros have a preference towards tequila (despite how they were more likely to set the alcohol on fire), the laborers enjoyed a moderately priced beer…  
                Though the RED Scout liked cocktails. Spy had his suspicions that the BLU Scout did too, but Spy mainly saw him drink some of the cheap swill that was available. Even though Spy knew Scout hated the taste.  
                The Demomen were getting to the Spies (mimosa for RED, martini for himself), when they hear the sound of a small moped.  
                Miss Pauling’s moped, to be specific.

                “Spy!” She shouts, skidding to a stop right at the gate of the patio.

                “Good evening Miss Pauling.” Spy says.

                “It took me _forever_ to get here.” She says, “My god, you looked awful! Then I see you running off from the Medic, on top of all the other actions you did while on mission. You know Spy, there was absolutely no harm in admitting you weren’t feeling well. Actually, more like _probably_ dying of some internal injury.”

                Spy watched both Demos seem completely uncertain as to what to do. Pauling unhooks her helmet, setting her moped on the kickstand and moves to sit down between all the mercs. The RED Demo utters a phrase in Scottish, continuing with his binge drinking, with BLU soon following.

                “I am fine, for now.” Spy says, “Three days should be enough for me to settle my affairs.”

                “What do you mean by that?” she asks.

                “Some… unexpected things happened. I will speak to the people involved at some point tomorrow, when I am certain I do not need morphine to keep myself from collapsing.” Spy says.

                She seemed ready to go in a tirade, though instead she lets out a breath that she seemed to have held the entire time. Pauling goes through her briefcase, pulling out what looked to be bits of Spy’s file. The Demomen were arguing over something, or singing a tavern song, Spy could hardly tell at this point.

                “I… I know the Administrator said that you’re full of secrets.” Pauling says, “But I had thought you would let me in on what’s going on.”

                “Nothing that should kill me.” Spy says.

                “So, it wasn’t your appendix bursting?” Pauling asks.

                “Already removed.” Spy says.

                She hums thoughtfully, closing the case as she uses it to lean on. She tries brushing her hair out of her face, only managing to cause more strands to fall. To say Pauling was stressed was an understatement.

                “You know this doesn’t settle me, right?” Pauling asks, “I get it, I’m not the one to care and you probably think that I’m more worried about replacing you but. Spy, I did grow to like you, a lot. You’re a great companion when you want to be.”

                “If you expect me to open up about myself, about how I know I am fine, you are sorely mistaken.” Spy says, “I like you Miss Pauling, more than just a friend and colleague. You and I have done amazing missions together.”

                “Where I found out you liked men as much as you liked women in one of them.” Pauling teased.

                “Among other things.” Spy says, having a genuine smile for just a moment before it returns to a neutral expression, “But. I will warn you Miss Pauling, go digging if you really want an answer now. You will find what you search for, and not only will I never trust you again, you will never have me at a more relaxed state during contracts.”

                Pauling stays quiet, keeping to herself as she processes what Spy said. It was all Spy could do, he theoretically had no means of stopping her. The RED Medic kept files, and he doubted the RED Spy had the time to destroy the documents. Pauling could find out very easily. He would hate to distance himself from her, but if she did go digging…       

                “Will you ever… tell me, or anyone?” Pauling asks, “I’m worried for you Spy.”

                “I know Pauling.” Spy says, “A handful of people already know why this happened, though I was unaware of one that knew, since I never disclosed the information. But, if it makes you feel any more comfortable, I will be speaking to another about my situation.”

                “I… assume this is some sort of medical disorder.” Pauling says, “but, the Administrator says that you would have told her if it was a massive problem, though allowed me to check that you didn’t, y’know… crawl in a hole and die.”

                Spy snorts at the comment, laughing as he remembers a drunken conversation that they had a couple missions ago. Pauling chuckles along, covering her mouth politely as it seems much of her stress abates. He also notes that Pauling was around the area of being right, but knows that telling her this information…  
                Well, not in front of either Demo. Spy figured they would not mind, but this was his decision to make. And he wanted to do it when they were closer to being “sober” instead of “almost ready to pass out drunk”. Trusted both of them well enough to give them this information.

                “ _Non mon amie_ , not this time.” Spy says, “I will manage, somehow.”

                “Well.” Pauling says, “I’ll respect your decision. Tell the Administrator that you know what’s wrong and you’ve taken precautions. And, you won’t try to work through pain again.”

                “ _Merci_ Miss Pauling. I appreciate it.” He says.

                The two get to talking about incidentals, Spy feeling ever more relaxed as the conversation goes on. Eventually, she gets a phone call that has her leave as suddenly as she came, despite how the two were catching up on lost time. She’s on her moped, buckling her helmet on as she thinks of something.

                “I think there will be a mission next week I will need help on. Want to come along?” Pauling asks.

                “For you, I don’t mind being your ‘bitchy bi wingman.’” He says.

                He watches her zoom away on her moped, slowly turning back to the Demomen who were mostly uninvolved in their conversation. It takes a couple minutes for anyone to speak.

                “So, Spy.” RED says, “You have a good… friendship with Pauling?”

                “I think she would call it an ‘understanding’ or say that I am a good ‘wingman’ when she has to appear inconspicuous.” Spy says.

                There was some truth in the statement, although he would not disclose what they usually did. That would take time, and for parts of the time, both of them were far too drunk to properly remember. There was the knife game incident… which, Spy could do sober, but certainly not drunk.

                “I don’t know about you two, but I think I should head back to base.” BLU says, “I’ll let the others know you’re alive and well Spy.”

                “Of course.” Spy says.

                RED takes his leave soon after, Spy sitting alone at the patio for a couple minutes. He grabs his bag containing his drinks, deciding to follow RED secretly. It was twofold: he would get to the RED base undetected, and it would be his way of making sure the RED Demo did not come across more harm… Since apparently, Spy was incapable of being ‘nice’.  
                During Ceasefire, Spy does not truly see RED as his enemies. Why should he? He was not paid to outside of work hours. Administrator’s opinions be damned, he will not hate a group of people that treat this like a punch clock just like he did.  
                But he still has a twinge of nervousness about seeing the RED Sniper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to write something involving the whole "lesbian Miss Pauling with her bitchy bi wingman Spy" because I feel that would be so much fun.


	5. Hints- RED Sniper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RED Sniper gets an unexpected guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.  
> if you expect smut, not right now.  
> Probably more like later  
> This work... is intended to be a long one.

                Sniper leans against his kitchenette table, his rifle slung over his shoulder. He made coffee, though it sits by him, cold.  
                He honestly hates coffee, but always needs the caffeine fix. The ready supply of Jarate helped too. But, if he could drink something else… Well, it’d probably be wine. Something neither of the Spooks would appreciate, but it would be wine.  
                He’s used to being up for days on end, sitting in the same spot. Ceasefire does not relax him, it puts him on edge. Three days, of _this_? The constant worrying, feeling stuck and lost. Sniper did not want to find out his teammate killed the BLU Spy. Well, he suspected Miss Pauling would have questioned him by now over the matter. Must mean the bastard’s not dead.

                But, as the sun went down and the night became dark and cooler… Sniper keeps his position, lost in thought. He’s drawn back to reality when he hears a Scottish drinking song. Demo must have returned from a night out. Sniper would have liked to join, honestly. If he could trust his own drunken thoughts to not expose himself as…  
                Well. Something abnormal. Sniper ignored his feelings exceptionally well.

                Then there was that fucking-

                Sniper lurches when he hears someone knock on his door, aiming his rifle at it. God dammit, he’s been at RED for how many years? Three? Four? And he _still_ can’t manage himself around people. Can’t handle them bothering him.

                “Tavish, as much as I’d like the late night rounds, you should be going to bed.” He says.

                “Oh Sniper…” he hears.

                Sniper perks at the sound, wavering his aim. Spy. BLU Spy. RED knew better than to bother him when he doesn’t eat dinner with everyone. But, Sniper was used to all sorts of ploys…

                “Alright. Which spook are you?” Sniper asks.

                “I will not play this game with you bushman, I can easily turn around and go back to my base.” Spy says.

                BLU always meant it, the few times he came over to talk to Sniper off hours. Weird Spy, but BLU made it known he thinks of this as a job and off hours… Well, he liked the challenge to the Administrator, and so long as they didn’t flaunt their ‘friendship’ like Demo and Solly did, they should be fine in theory.   
                He sighs, setting his rifle on a perch before he rises to head for the door. He unlocks the door, knowing Spy well enough that he would let himself in, stretching as he heads back to his spot at his table. The BLU Spy walks in, carrying a classic brown bag.

                “Wine?” Sniper asks.

                “Gin, actually.” Spy says, “Something… different.”

                Definitely not the RED Spy, he hates gin with a passion and will complain someone’s ear off when given the chance to. Sniper gestures to the seat by him, seeing Spy slide in carefully and sets out the contents. Even bought some shot glasses.

                “I had some… somewhere.” Sniper says.

                “You broke them at Coldfront and complained incessantly about it.” Spy says.

                Sniper keeps quiet, though takes hold of the gin when Spy tries opening it. There’s a tense moment between them, neither too certain who would break the silence. On if this is a bribe or supposed to help loosen Spy’s tongue, Sniper had no idea.

                “You sure you can drink that?” Sniper asks.

                “The morphine is starting to wear off, I should be fine.” Spy says.

                Pain bad enough for heavy drugs? And he was fine with mixing alcohol with it?  
                Sniper takes the bottle away, knowing how this will come off as he throws it against the front door. They hear it shatter, Spy keeping his gaze focused on Sniper.

                “That was an exceptionally expensive vintage of gin.” Spy says slowly.

                “You came here to talk.” Sniper says, “Else, you would have bought your fancy wine. I think we can both talk without it.”

                “Am I that predictable?” Spy asks.

                He reaches into his suit jacket, bringing out what Sniper knows to be the disguise kit, probably for his cigarettes. Sniper knew the brands were different, RED preferring one that smelled a lot like cherries while BLU had a kind that was like citrus. It’s how he could tell them apart easily. Sniper ends up reaching further along the table, for the carton he hid from himself. It wouldn’t hurt to smoke with Spy.

                “I probably would have overlooked it if it wasn’t the same wine.” Sniper says.

                “So if I brought a… Sémillon, you would not notice?” Spy asks.

                One of the Demomen must have mentioned Sniper’s preference for wine. It’s close, but not quite the vintage he drinks. He grumbles, fumbling with his match. He does manage to light it, though all it does is flicker far too quick into flames, burning his finger.

                “Ah piss!” he shouts.

                He sets the cigarette down, just so he can stick his burnt fingers in his mouth. Helped, at least. Spy offers his lighter, raising a brow when he refuses.

                “Nah mate, more of doing it because you are.” Sniper says, “I don’t care for them otherwise.”

                “How… endearing.” Spy says, drawing out the last word.

                Sniper chuckles a bit, thinking on how RED insinuated it was ‘interesting’ in the ‘foolish’ way. No matter how similar the two Spooks were, Sniper could appreciate the differences.  
                He wonders if BLU did the same for him and his BLU counterpart.  
                Probably.

                “Anyhow.” Sniper says, putting the cigarette away, “What’s got you bothered?”

                “I actually came to request some assistance.” Spy says.

                That was different. Sniper wasn’t quite sure how he wanted to process this, listening to Spy continue to explain.

                “I know exactly what’s wrong with me. A doctor lied to me, and he just so happens to be a state away.” Spy says, “I could go alone…”

                Sounded as though Spy was uncertain if he could actually make that trip alone.

                “Why not ask Lawrence?” Sniper asks.

                “I believe I recall mentioning that we don’t particularly get along.” Spy says.

                More like Spy doesn’t know how to get along with anyone. Sniper knew, but he thought it was getting along at work. Which, that was everyone’s pejorative. There were many who had better working attitudes than private ones.  
                But hearing that the BLU Spy didn’t get along with people at work nor in private. Says a lot about the bloke, says even more on how he remained in that refrigerator for so long.

                “Alright. Say I think it’s a wise risk.” Sniper says.

                “We have more than enough time to make an impromptu visit, and I trust you enough to tell you why I am so pressed on going as soon as possible.” Spy says.

                There’s so much missing from this, the phrasing is more than vague enough for Spy to get away with all sorts of shenanigans. Sniper thinks over his questions carefully, knowing that he was given permission to ask many of them that he wouldn’t normally think of.

                “Is this… related to some sort of disease you have?” Sniper asks.

                It almost sounded as though the Spy had cancer. Wouldn’t be too surprising, given how much the man smokes.

                “Miss Pauling asked the same thing.” Spy says, “but no, this is…”

                He seemed at a loss for words. Sniper never seen him in this way, the uncertainty as he leans back in the seat. He stubs out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, bringing Sniper to attention. He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a folded photograph.

                “I do not think this will… answer your question.” He says, “I am still uncertain as to how much I truly want to share with you. But, this is a start.”

                Spy gingerly extends the photograph to Sniper, his hand shakes when Sniper takes it from him. Sniper folds it open, not quite sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t…  
                A woman. Sniper takes off his glasses to see the photograph better. The colors were washed out, but he could see the fiery red hair, clearly a wig. No hair is naturally that bright. There was flamboyant makeup too, to hide much of the features in her face. A bit bird like, if he was going to be honest. But, didn’t change her nose. Long, and pointy, like-  
                Spy.  
                Sniper couldn’t help but scratch the back of his neck as he looks at other details. Masculine clothing, couldn’t mistake that suit for a men’s. But equally couldn’t escape that the figure still had feminine touches.  
                Spy never particularly mentioned family, neither of them did. Sniper wanted to conclude that this was a sister. Maybe some weird lesbian sister that Spy has, not that he ever mentioned any family. Eyes didn’t even match, the woman’s eyes had a clear hazel tint (well, the colors were still washed out, maybe they were green).  
                He kept looking back to the nose.

                “This is you.” Sniper says.

                “Oui.” Spy says.

                “Huh. Didn’t make for a bad Sheila. Even if you did look…” Sniper starts.

                He hears the Spy sharply inhale, taking that as a hint he misspoke. Sniper carefully folds the photograph back, handing it back to the Spy. He didn’t snatch it, though Sniper noticed his expression. Pursed lips, closed within himself, probably ready to bolt out the door.

                “But, I mean.” Sniper says, “Obviously you done a lot of work to be a bloke. And not a half bad one, even if you still have that hawkish nose.”

                Spy keeps quiet, holding his eyes on Sniper. There was this brief moment of doubt, he fucked it up further didn’t he? Good job Sniper! Getting killed and you’re not even forty! He was almost certain that this kind of mood shift meant that Spy would kill him, permanently.

                “Considering how much money I spent to look like a ‘bloke,’ I certainly hope people notice me as such.” Spy says, “And for the record, I like my nose.”

                Sniper lets out a breath, laughing over the situation. Spy chuckles along with him, easing his posture as the two seem to have gone past this tense moment. Sniper had so many questions, but he doubted many of them would be answered. Not now, not today.

                “So uh.” Sniper starts, “What’s the doctor for?”

                “He supplies me with medication that helps me… appear male.” Spy says, “The incident you had to witness was something unaccounted for. I need to talk to him, perhaps he missed something. And… you are level headed enough to keep me from murdering him.”

                It answered Sniper’s other question, what about the Medic. He either didn’t know, or couldn’t help Spy. Well, it might be an interesting drive, and maybe he could learn more. He did enjoy the slight companionship the two had, when they weren’t murdering each other on the field.  
                There was that one time Spy stabbed him for some obscene comment he made, and then he continued to feel it for the next few days. Something about how Spy received a quadruple penalty to his paycheck. Sniper was almost worried Spy would be out for him for three weeks, like he did for the-  
                RED Medic.

                “Ah. Erm.” Sniper says, “This why you were pissed about the RED Medic?”

                Sniper regrets that decision, seeing a knife from Spy’s sleeve pointed at him. He grips onto the table, uncertain on what he did, only that he hit a sore spot.

                “In short, yes.” Spy says, “And this is as far as I would like to talk about _him_ , _s'il tu plaît_.”

                “Right. Noted. M’sorry.” Sniper says.

                Spy inhales slowly, relaxing his posture and bringing the knife back in. Sniper takes time before he relaxes, reaching for the cold cup of coffee he forgot about.  
                Of course, it spilt, but he couldn’t quite recall when it did.

                “Bushman, this… conversation exhausts me. I barely trusted telling you, but I knew I needed help.” Spy says, “Think you can be awake before the suns up and meet me in town? My car would get us at the location quicker.”

                Sniper ponders the question, for a moment. Well, it hardly mattered which vehicle, but it was probably some fancy sports car that he could barely keep his lanky body in. Much less a rifle, though he supposed he could bring his bow.

                “Just let me know what weapon I should bring. For protection, in case we run into other kinds of trouble.” Sniper says.

                Spy chuckles at the comment, giving a quick explanation that his standard rifle or his bow would be sufficient, though mentioned preference for the rifle. With that, Sniper watches Spy move to leave, and he couldn’t help but reach out. More hesitation, Spy glancing back with an uncertain gaze, but at least he doesn’t threaten to kill Sniper. Again.

                “I have wine in the fridge, since I tossed your gin.” He offers.

                “You’re serious?” Spy asks.

                “Well, erm, it’s boxed.” He admits.

                “Boxed. Wine.” Spy says slowly.

                “Y’know, nevermind. Go rest or something. Don’t seem interested.” Sniper says.

                Spy makes a move to the fridge, taking out the boxed wine. He’s holding it as though he has a glass of Jarate, deep seated contempt as he seemed prepared to throw it. Instead, he looks through a few of Sniper’s boxes, grabbing one of the few glasses he has that he puts in a secure place.

                “It’s wine. And I need a drink.” Spy says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psst, where I'm from we package our alcohol in brown bags. It's why they're called "package stores."  
> also you can find my writing blog here: morpheusenmemori.tumblr.com  
> my nonsensical reblog everything I like and occasionally talk about life doings here: prince-darkleboop.tumblr.com  
> my twitter here: @morpheusememori  
> I can answer questions on any of those formats, but I'm a bit reserved on handing out discord or skype (if people even use that)


	6. Tears- BLU Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bits about the BLU Spy becomes apparent.  
> And tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a feeling this will be super long (look I hit a smidgen above 2k words, it's barely halfway done, and knew I was posting this today)  
> this chapter will talk about a bunch of medical stuff and some dysphoria.  
> (I already intend for a timeline deviance from the canon, for plot reasons)

                When Spy wakes up, he realizes he cannot recall when he fell asleep. He swore that he left, probably to curl in one of the Sniper’s nests (for when he could not stand to be in his base). But instead, he’s in a bed, curled in a tangle of sheets as close to a ball he could make himself. All moving did was cause the cool air to hit him the wrong way, and he nearly whined.  
                Looking around, he sees Sniper sitting on top of a kitchenette counter, leaning against a wall. Sniper shifts from his position, looking to where Spy laid down.  
                Right, this abomination of a vehicle has two beds, and the tiny table can be shoved away to make one.   
                He groans, slowly sitting himself up. This… isn’t unfamiliar. He just didn’t deal with it for a few years. Spy checks himself, sighing in relief. Thank God he did not have to deal with this awkward situation again. Though, he might if he was not careful.

                “You look… well, with what little skin I see of your face, you look like death.” Sniper says.

                “Hard to notice here.” Spy says sarcastically.

                He groans once more, after the comment came out. Sniper, without his hat and glasses… it was easier to see that the man was in great discomfort.  
                Spy would have made a comment, but he was just as uncomfortable about his own body. He’s mentally cursing many of his choices, especially the part where he figured he could handle having the bottom parts for a couple more years.  
                Well, actually ten now that he thought on how long it has been.

                “Sniper.” Spy says, “Just. Today will be a trying one, as was yesterday. I should be fine, I will see what a standard painkiller will do, and if I must, I will ride in this van while you drive.”

                “Mate, might be best you… relax.” Sniper says, “Not saying this ain’t important, but I certainly wasn’t expecting you to pass out on me.”

                Neither was he, but here they are. Ceasefire ends in the later afternoon tomorrow, which the mercs could do a couple rounds. Back to normal for the next day, and the scheduled breaks continue. Spy wanted to head for his car, at least put it back in his base. Though, if he was feeling truly desperate, he could contact a teammate to do it. The Engineer would handle his Miura, he would just have to use his Spytron 3000 to reach him…  
                And then have to explain why.

                There was no winning today, was there?

                Alright. Small steps. Some sort of way to start one of his daily rituals, and a forced one.

                “Sniper.” Spy says, “Does this van have a… private space?”

                He highly doubted it had a bathroom. The empty jars were his clue, but he needed a space, and a place to wash. Clean up, try to shave the stubble…. And try not to focus on the bit of him that wasn’t male.

                “I could leave the camper and give you space.” He offers.

                It was better than nothing. Sniper promises Spy thirty minutes, somehow more than enough and barely enough time for him to sort through his ritual. All that was really left was the disposal of the effects he used, and managed to find a sealed bag marked biohazard.  
                Spy knocks on the door, letting Sniper know he can return inside. He makes a vague comment about the biohazard bag, thankful that Sniper’s response was to immediately ‘handle it,’ no judgement nor questions.  
                Gave Spy time to contact his Engineer.

                “Spy, I don’t think this sounds right…” the Texan says.

                “My plans changed. I trust you with the car. And I am fine.” Spy insists.

                “Medic still wants to see you, I ought to let him know where you’re… at.” He says.

                There’s an awkward silence, which the Engineer breaks with a loud, nearly frustrated sigh. Spy has heard such sighs before, and usually it’s when he’s ready to go after the RED Spy for targeting him far too much.

                “Out of all the people…” Engineer says, “Alright Spy. You’re lucky Lawrence knows him well enough to explain a lot about _both_ their habits, damned Snipers... Either this is some crazy mission set by the Administrator, or you really trust the bastard.”

                Engineer silences the line, Spy takes in a deep breath, sitting at the kitchenette. The drive by his car should take three hours, speeding along and ignoring police… Well, with this van, it may take five. He will have to accept this, being in a confined space for so long…

                Well, Spy hopes he wasn’t asked too many questions. He might stab his Sniper, despite how he does need a couple answers.  
                How in the world could he set boundaries? Spy could tell Sniper he wanted to answer nothing, but it was more accurate that he was unprepared to talk about… Antoinette.  
                He could talk a bit about the transition. Maybe some of what he had done, except for what relates to his bottom half. Could speak about some of the difficulties, especially this one. It would more than likely help Spy to talk about it.  
                But Spy was not talking about Antoinette.

                * * *

                It’s been an hour on the road, and his Sniper said nothing.  
                At the very beginning, Spy appreciated this. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to talk, almost tempted to think he wanted this silence. But, Spy continues back to the conversation they had prior. Sniper admitted that with the Spy’s sports car, it would have taken less time. But, with the Spy in the state he’s in, this was safer. Only it would take about four hours instead of five.  
                One less hour on the road, more time to interrogate his doctor.  
                If Spy could stand the silence. Given the rate he’s going through his cigarettes, that seemed unlikely.

                “I…” Spy starts, “I will admit, I expected questions.”

                Sniper kept his eyes on the road, nothing but desert everywhere. At least they did not have to concern themselves with traffic.

                “Figured you needed the quiet. Even with that aspirin, you seem on edge.” He says.

                Spy was going to be on edge no matter what. This wasn’t a topic he wanted to talk about, not in this state, and not… Well, he trusted the Sniper enough to say some things. Just not about _her_.

                “It hardly matters.” Spy says, “You can ask, I do not promise to answer, but try to avoid questions… about her.”

                Spy had started thinking he had presumed far too much about his Sniper when the silence continued. He thinks ten minutes passed, pondering and watching the seemingly unchanging scenery before Sniper speaks up.

                “I… do have one that seems like a great starting point. But might cross a line you set.” He says.

                “Just ask. I don’t think I could stand the silence.” Spy says.

                He wishes the radio worked, even if all he heard were songs he hated and could barely understand the new slang.

                “How did you know?” Sniper asks.

                Ah. That did cross a certain line, and Spy understood the apprehension. He first asks for clarification, making sure Sniper meant how Spy knew he was male. After getting confirmation, Spy ponders the question.  
                It’s not that he didn’t know, Spy knew. Knew for a while. Knew when he was that little girl. Knew that he would never be the kind of woman his parents wanted. Especially considering what his parents did…  
                Not particularly something he thought on often. It was the past, they were long dead, as were his sisters. He has a little niece or nephew roaming around France, though he doubts they would remember the black sheep sibling. And he knew he would have been paraded around as an aunt.

                “I think I was seven.” Spy admits, “After spectacularly failing to impress my parents and guests with my feminine finesse, I impressed their anger. I forget which action did it, it was either breaking one of the porcelain decorations, or it was the fact I knew the words of a satirist play that was banned in the household… oh what was that title, it was something vulgar.”

                Spy has to think of it, getting the French title and has to pick out what it would logically translate to in English.

                “Ah. Right. Translates to Tirésias’ Breasts.” Spy says.

                “You’re joking.” Sniper says.

                “ _Non_. I shouted what was essentially ‘No, monsieur my husband, you won’t do what you want, I’m a feminist.’” Spy says.

                “Still not quite sure I get it.” Sniper says.

                “Oh, the part after that is, she pops balloons that were her breasts, and turned into a man. She renames herself from _Thérèse_ to _Tirésias_.” Spy says.

                “… I’m not sure I would understand that play with more context. Even then, I’m more surprised you were exposed to that at seven.” Sniper says.

                Spy chuckles at his Sniper’s confusion. Sure, the play presently eludes him, a context that was losing more of itself to time. Besides, once Spy realized how much the context changed… When he realized that the play was mocking a pornographic one as well as mocking the Flappers of the time, it did ruin a lot of the mystique.  
                That was a different debate he had with people who were like him, who had stranger literary connections to their transition. Sniper already admitted he was woefully lost.

                “I knew someone who said he knew when he was born he wasn’t quite right.” Spy says, “I knew people who didn’t know until they were adults. I knew people like me, who knew when they were children. Each story is a bit different, though not… unfamiliar.”

                “Well… I’m not sure if I would say it makes sense. I don’t have these feelings you do, so all I can really say is it helped me have a concept.” Sniper says, “But, you trust me with this, the least I can do is get to some level of understanding.”

                It was more than what many people gave Spy, when he told them. Those that did were usually like him, transitioned from a gender they were uncomfortable with. The feeling in his chest… well, he certainly felt better talking about himself, now that he was sure Sniper would not intend on betraying his trust.

                “I think I have another.” Sniper says, “You looked so different in the photo, how’d you change?”

                “That one many people have a point of contention, many dislike explaining.” Spy says, “If you ever met more like myself, I strongly suggest not asking.”

                “M’Sorry.” Sniper says.

                “For me…” Spy says, “Perhaps I could tell you, later, in a different setting. I enjoy talking about it. But, on my terms.”

                He wonders if he made Sniper afraid of asking more questions. Well, Spy had to say no to that one, despite his feelings on the matter. After causing an awkward moment for one of his old friends, he learned his lesson. Perhaps one day he would feel comfortable enough to show Sniper.  
                A foolish thought, but he could still have it.

                “I assume this is… difficult.” Sniper says.

                “ _Tireur_ , you need to be more specific.” Spy says.

                “Just.” Sniper says, “The whole process. I know you’re happy mate, probably was the happiest moment when you looked more like… well, what I see now. Here I was thinking the happiest moment you have is whenever you stab people in the back.”

                “There is a certain kind of pleasure I derive from stabbing.” Spy says, “But yes, the process was… interesting. I suspect you will hear more from the doctor, but-.”

                “I know, close to that other question I asked. You might say more at another time.” Sniper says, “Not sure what more to ask Spook, this doesn’t seem to be the place.”

                Probably not, but Spy blames himself, partially. He expected his Sniper to be more… inquisitive. Not in an annoying way, more curious and cautious. Sniper, as it turns out, was far more cautious than Spy expected.  
                This needed to change.

                “Lazare.” Spy says.

                “Wot?” Sniper asks.

                “Lazare Antoine Devaux.” He says.

                Sniper keeps quiet, again defying the Spy’s expectations.  
                Give him a name, and he chooses silence…  
                Spy wasn’t sure if he should think this is a meaningful sort of endearing, or on the cusp of annoying.

                “Know why you picked that name?” Sniper says, “Aside from the fact that you knew it was going to be your name and no one was taking that from you?”

                “Well, Lazare is symbolic. French form of Lazarus.” Spy says, “Devaux… it’s close to the last name I was born with. I hated it enough to change it, but not enough to completely distance myself from it. Antoine has some relation to my birth name, though I go in between liking it or not.”

                “Hm. For making a name for yourself, ain’t half bad. Considering what most parents name their children.” Sniper says.

                Wait is he really….

                “You don’t like your name Mundy?” Spy asks.

                “It’s not an awful name.” Sniper says, “But you’ve got to admit, who names their kid ‘Mick Mundy?’”

                Considering the Spy’s birth name, he would take ‘Mick Mundy’ over being named after the last Queen of France. That name has so many stories, but later. When Spy was certain Sniper could not connect the name to one of his old codenames.  
                Or never, never was a distinct possibility.

                How long of a drive do they still have? Spy could still see nothing but desert, figured it had to be hours more.  
                The boredom might kill him before the anxiety with speaking with his doctor.

                “You said no questions relating to her, but.” Sniper asks, “I keep thinking maybe you and RED both have a child.”

                Sniper seemed to find all the questions that teetered the lines. But, he could talk about her. He knew very little, only that he named her. Other than that, most of his information about her is vastly out of date and minimal.

                “I do.” Spy says, “A girl. I never saw her after I- After she was born. I… knew she deserved better.”

                “You mean to say the RED Spy took care of his sons? Always dismissed me whenever I asked, though he did explain after those photographs that he knew they’re his.” Sniper asks.

                “Best that he could, given the circumstances. From what I vaguely understand.” Spy says, “I knew I couldn’t. So, I surrendered her to her….”

                Spy couldn’t bring himself to say father, to him, it meant admitting he was a mother. Other parent sounded wrong, because that was unfair to both of them.  
                So how was he supposed to describe this?

                “Spook?” Sniper asks, his voice tense.

                “I. I sent her away.” Spy says.

                “Spook. Stop.” Sniper says.

                A mild level of offense came, Spy nearly prepared to swear at the Sniper in French. He certainly sets up to, digging around for his cigarettes. Then remembers at some point, he smoked the last that were in the case. He did think far ahead enough to stash a carton in the van, but it would be in the camper part. That he has no access to.  
                He watches Sniper rummage between the seats, pulling out a pack of his cigarettes. Spy doesn’t question when Sniper tosses them to him.

                “Enough.” Sniper says, “You shared more than enough about yourself. And I’ll add on your daughter on a growing list of ‘on your own terms.’ Focus on the part where you’ll need energy to talk to your doctor.”

                Spy attempts to speak twice more. The first time, Sniper merely says stop, interrupting before Spy could get out the name of his daughter. The second time, Sniper grabs a hold of his shoulder, gripping when Spy attempts to say more. He sighs, shrugging Sniper off him and starts smoking the cigarettes he was given.

                “Fine.” Spy says, “But I don’t like this.”

                * * *

                The drive starts taking significantly less time than the Spy expected. He had since finished another pack of cigarettes, though more would not settle his nerves. Might make them worse.  
                They arrive in a small area, somehow more secluded than Teufort. At least they had trees, and a minimal amount of desert. Spy has to be more precise in his directions, knowing the doctor ‘hides’ in an office that many do not pay much mind to. Not unless they required medical attention. Sniper noted it looked a great deal like a house.  
                And soon Sniper rushes after the Spy when he exits the van.

                “What is it bushman?” Spy asks.

                “You sure about this?” Sniper asks.

                “We’re already here. Now is not the time to be uncertain.” Spy says.

                Sniper seemed ready to argue, ready to tell Spy that he was being a fool. Or something. He never gets that opportunity, they watch the door open, and Spy sees his doctor. It’s been a year since he came in person, the man doesn’t appear that different. More prone to annoyance, and certainly seems exhausted.  
                Spy hopes he never becomes a disgruntled retired spy like this one.

                “I was expecting you, Monsieur Devaux.” The doctor says.

                “ _Putain_.” Spy mumbles.

                The doctor sighs, rubbing his eyes. He turns to the door, waving at them to enter. Spy takes the lead, Sniper following, but with a great deal of trepidation. Spy hardly sees the man hesitate, and it only served to put him on edge. Once inside, the Spy keeps an eye around the room. Mostly clear, this was supposed to be a designated waiting area. Though, with the way the doctor leans against the reception desk…

                “Please tell me you’re here to complain about something your body is doing.” The doctor says.

                “My… friend, is here to stop me from making foolish mistakes.” Spy says.

                “At least you admit you’re pissed.” The doctor says, “Devaux, I _warned_ you many things when you started those drugs. I knew you would come running here eventually, I’m more surprised it’s been a couple years. Hell, been ten actually when I gave you that recommendation, and each time you visit the answer’s always no.”

                Spy clenches his fist, having it half in his mind to stab the doctor. He feels Sniper grab hold of his shoulder, gentler than the time in the van. Spy takes in a sharp breath, moving to one of the comfortable chairs. He sits down, crossing his leg over the other. He hears the Sniper move, hearing him lean against the wall.

                “I’m familiar with your friend. Decent sniper from what I heard. Him and another Australian, though not sure if this one’s Mister Mundy or Lawrence Morgan.” The doctor says.

                “Ain’t gonna clarify that mate.” Sniper says.

                “Fair enough. Devaux here only calls me doctor, though I’m Thaller.” He says, “What brings you here?”

                “Keeping the Spook out of trouble, called a favor I owed him.” Sniper says.

                Sniper and… Thaller. Somehow, they’re civil. Significantly more civil than Spy expected out of either of them. Spy half wonders why he deals with Thaller. He trusted him to get his drugs right, ex-spy and all. But, there was this…  
                Discomfort. Not a kind of feeling Spy could really explain, knowing it wasn’t a level of mistrust, more along the lines of Spy feels he’s speaking to the wrong person about his problems.

                “Hmph. He must trust you enough to have you here while we discuss this problem he’s dealing with.” Thaller says.

                “He hasn’t mentioned what’s wrong, how are you sure about his issues?” Sniper asks.

                “Easy. I told him what he needed to consider within five years of starting those drugs. It’s been more than five years. He’s probably self-treating himself with morphine and has the past times it happened. Something changed this go around, but I have a few guesses.” Thaller says.

                He recalls having warning about the fact that his ovaries would probably feel as though they would try to kill him. After living with them for so long, and knowing the kind of pain that made him collapse on the ground. He knew what treated them, though refused on principle.

                “I know.” Spy says.

                “I am not sure you do Devaux.” Thaller says, “You’re going to hurt more than yourself at this rate.”

                Spy’s not sure what irritates him more about that statement. The fact that Thaller was right was among that list, but there was also knowing that Thaller would use that knowledge against him.  
                In front of _his_ Sniper.

                “It’s the nature of our jobs. For example, you’re lucky you managed to retire as a _doctor_ in some hellhole around nothing.” Spy says.

                “I know what your motto is, given your acquaintances. Spies die in two ways. Painfully and slow, or by their own means. You don’t have a cyanide tooth, so I have no idea what you favor.” Thaller says, “I intend on dying in my sleep Devaux. After the shit I’ve been through, I deserve it. I even want it for you! If damned snipers can retire with little concern, so should we.”

                Spy half wonders what Sniper is thinking. He couldn’t look back at him, not with Thaller’s unpredictable nature. Must be a spy thing, must be why he’s mistrusting a doctor this much.  
                Maybe Spy should consider going to Medic instead… after this conversation. But, as Spy tries to focus his thoughts, such as asking how in the world the bleeding started back, Thaller moves slowly from the desk.  
                Spy panics, shooting up and ready to stab at a moment’s notice. Thaller gestures to where the Sniper is, and Spy listens. Steady breathing, much like what he hears when he’s sneaking up for a backstab. When Spy looks to the Sniper, he noticed more than that. Eyes closed, hat tilted down, and the position in no way looks comfortable.  
                But Spy was certain that Sniper, somehow, fell asleep while standing.

                “I don’t know if I should be impressed or worried he’s losing his touch.” Thaller says.

                “Both.” Spy says, “He still surprises me on occasion.”

                “Must be why you like him, aside from being willing to fuck anything that moves.” Thaller says.

                He inhales, holding his breath as he slowly sinks back in the chair.  
                Behave Spy, Sniper is asleep and he certainly can handle this on his own.  
                This won’t end badly like it has the past five times, not at all.

                Thaller moves to take a seat as well, situating himself behind the desk, groaning as he’s stretching out some aches. For someone approaching sixty, he didn’t look half bad. Much like the Medics well in their mid forties.

                “Devaux, what specifically is your complaint?” Thaller asks.

                “I… the blood came back.” Spy says.

                “Not surprised. Enough variables were working against you. It was only a matter of time.” Thaller says.

                “Do you know why?” Spy asks, “I know you told me, I am piecing most of them together. But this seems… unusual.”

                “Devaux. As I said, there’s a lot that goes into this and everyone who does this has different reactions.” Thaller says, “You had a child, you were always prone to extreme amounts of pain during your menses, even mentioned the times your menses didn’t appear that wasn’t related to work incidents….”

                Spy didn’t need Thaller to finish when he trailed off. He was told from those who transitioned that they experienced different things as well. His situation probably wasn’t that different, considering all the variables Thaller mentions.

                “So I have to live with this?” Spy asks.

                “You don’t _have_ to. Get a hysterectomy and the problems stop. But, as I recall, you’re apprehensive about it.” Thaller says.

                There were a couple of reasons. Spy may not want to _bear_ more children, but he was not opposed to the idea of having more. Take everything out, and there will be no more that will be his. Even as he grows older, with the increased risks, he thought on how his own mother was still able to have children in her fifties. Spy would not be surprised if it was the same for him.  
                Even if he would have to suffer the burden of this sort of pain.

                “I have stated I was not comfortable removing them, and that should be enough.” Spy says.

                “What’s the real reason Devaux?” Thaller asks.

                Spy could have dismissed this as a question doctors ask. Thaller has done it on more than one occasion. The tone was what made Spy feel a tightness in his chest.  
                _He knows_.

                “I told you I did not want to talk about her.” Spy says.

                “Teresa.” Thaller says, “Did you think I wasn’t going to look up the information? Did you forget I was a spy too?”

                “Do _not_ bring her in this.” Spy says.

                Spy could not hide the desperation in his voice.  
                He knew what he done. But he had to. He couldn’t raise a daughter, not when he was dealing with so much. She would have been lonely, forced into a life of espionage when the time presented itself. While Spy thrived in that life, his circumstances were different. She didn’t have to, not when the war was turning into a battle for secrets.  
                He knew he made the right choice. Yet Thaller made him question it.

                “Devaux, do you think that when you have another, you can change the past?” Thaller asks, “You should not base this decision on her. You let her go for a reason, stop trying to reach out for her.”

                 Spy barely saw what happened. It was between him standing, as did Thaller. The desk knocking forward, from Thaller’s leap. Flimsy thing, just for show. Spy had his butterfly knife, Thaller was prepared with an older pistol.  
                And he’s not quite sure how Sniper is between them, kukri positioned at Thaller’s throat.

                “Mate.” Sniper starts, “Most doctors I know stop when asked not to bring up something.”

                “He’s a fool and it’s a truth he needed to hear.” Thaller says.

                “Who knows mate. But I think we’re done here.” Sniper says.

                Sniper manages to knock the gun out of Thaller’s hand, keeping a close eye on him as Thaller backs into the knocked over desk. He’s tense, bringing his hand close to him and has an uneasy stare at the two.

                “I will never come here again Thaller.” Spy says, “I am finding someone else.”

                “Sure. Fine. Don’t listen to me. You know how to get the drugs by now. Just hope you never need another dose change.” Thaller says.

                Spy has to be lead out, he can barely feel… anything. Once they’re outside, he feels how the Sniper has a hold of him, as if he expects Spy to collapse.  
                He might.

                “Spook.” Sniper says, “Why did you let him be your doctor if all he’s doing is making you cry?”

                Spy, crying? He raises a hand, feeling his face, groaning when he realizes that he’s still crying. Taking off his mask later on will be exceptionally uncomfortable, the tears always messed with some of the makeup adhesive he uses.

                “I don’t know. Convenience? The fact a friend recommended him? Or I was scared to go elsewhere.” Spy says.

                “You sure you don’t want me to kill him?” Sniper asks.

                “I should.” Spy admits, “But I see no point. Leaving him alone will serve me.”

                And Thaller is probably all the town has. Mentioning that to Sniper would only exasperate the situation. He lets the Sniper take him to the van, getting in the passenger side. He sees how the Sniper turns, leaving the door open. Spy grabs his arm, making the man stop.

                “Let’s go.” Spy says, “Leave it alone. I do not want to deal with corpse cleaning.”

                “Doesn’t feel right. Especially since he recognized me and my counterpart.” Sniper says.

                “He’s a spy and an old one too.” Spy says, “I will report his location to one of my contacts when we are back on base.”

                With that lie, he sees the man deflate, grumbling as he slips away, closing the door. It’s not long, Sniper returning to the van and wordlessly driving off.  
                And somehow, Spy still feels tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a lot of my knowledge of social expectations in the middle class (mostly in Europe) starts failing post Victorian Era and it starts picking back up around the 1930s.  
> Since I know a lot about the eras in between, I can fill in a bunch of blanks. I’m making an educated guess that while French society was more “equal” there was still a gender disparity (socially, at least. It may have been more feminist, but reading a lot of the satires against feminism, well, it’s colorful). And given Bourgeoisie culture, especially what I can garner from the kind of Bourgeoisie culture that’d be present in the “upper middle class,” I think I probably hit it pretty damned close to accurate.  
> I uh. Had no idea about that play (in case anyone thought I made it up, it's real) until I did some research and I figured “well, I’ve seen similar stories like that one. I mean cosplay made me go through the process of realizing I’m trans (again, first story... eh, maybe I’ll tell it later).”  
> Also Thaller’s the kind of person who’s intentionally a dick, because that’s how he presses questions people don’t want to ask themselves. There's a right way to be someone like Thaller, but this certainly ain't it.


	7. Fears- RED Sniper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sniper's trying to hold it together.  
> Though, he's still bad with words.  
> And he does start noticing things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sleep eludes me.  
> have some calm down and... you know, debated on having some explicit stuff people may sign up for (right near the end) but it didn't feel right. Seemed to be the wrong place. Maybe next chapter (maybe the BLU Spy would make for a better perspective)

                Bloody Spy.  
                Bloody Thaller.  
                Bloody _desert_.

                Bugger it all.

                Sniper couldn’t flick his bobble head, he uses it to relax, even if he also flicks it just for. The Spy would know he’s on edge. Couldn’t talk, words weren’t coming for one, and what could he even talk about?  
                Say sorry about his daughter Teresa?  
                Say sorry for acting he was dozed because he thought maybe it would reduce the tension?  
                Try to get the Spook to talk more about himself, given this was going to be a long drive?  
                Try to talk the Spook into letting him stop at a spot in about a half hour? Well, that one he’d have to do. One, he needs gas. Two, food would be lovely. And three, he had to piss.

                Ah piss, he thought about it again. Normally, he would piss in a jar while driving. Done it many times.  
                _But he was certain the Spook would take grave offense and they would argue, Sniper did not need them **arguing**._

                “Spook.” Sniper says.

                He only gotten a muffled sound in response. Spook was still crying, though without all the whimpering and sniveling that Sniper was accustomed to when people _did_ cry. It’s unsettling.

                “I do need to stop. Eventually.” He says, “Gas. Food. Piss break. Before you ask.”

                Sniper had hoped to receive some sort of response. A negative one counted. But, he worried when he got the exact same sound as earlier. Acknowledgement, he supposed.  
                He wondered, for a moment, how the Spook pissed.  
                That moment vanished as he figured that wasn’t his business and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Not now, maybe not today either. Far too many surprises and Sniper had far too much information that he needed to process for himself.  
                That and there was Lawrence.

                Lawrence helped him understand, somewhat. Him and the Pyros, under a variety of tense conversations, locations in the small towns nearby, and… mistrust.

                Honestly, Lawrence didn’t give him much of a guideline of what to ask and all. He based it off their previous conversations. Sniper didn’t know if he should be confused that Spy was a lot more reserved, even explained some of the issues to some of the questions.

                On his terms, Sniper reminds himself. On the Spy’s terms, he’ll know a lot more.

                “You. Are. Tense.” Spy says.

                Sniper had a retort, it almost came out his mouth, sitting right at the tip of his tongue. Well, what would Spy do if he found out exceptionally sensitive information? Stuff he wasn’t quite supposed to know.  
                Sniper had to remind himself that Spy is a Spy and probably done it many times in his life.  
                And remind himself that Spy isn’t quite himself, and his voice was completely haggard.  
                None of that helped to relax him. He tightened his hold on the steering wheel, looking around for something, anything. He sees the shape of some sort of man made structure. He really hoped it was a gas station.  
                He couldn’t even recall how long he’s been driving.

                “Bushman?” Spy asks.

                Still haggard. Didn’t feel right. Didn’t know what to say. Inhale. Come on Mick, say _something_.

                “What.” Sniper asks.

                That sounded far too flat, would probably set off the Spy. In uncomfortable situations, the Spy can and did lash out at the nearest target. Sniper saw what happened to the Medic, though the crazy bastard deserved a lot of it.

                “Never mind.” Spy says.

                This is getting ridiculous. Sniper had loads to say, when his mind processed everything, when he found out what questions he wanted to ask, which ones to even ask aloud. Not now.

                “On your terms.” Sniper says.

                “Pardon?” Spy asks.

                “What you said, on your terms.” Sniper says, “Mentioning how you’re not ready to talk. I ain’t. Just.”

                Let him get to a stopping point, which was a gas station. Spy noticed how he stopped, looking out to the road. He seemed to get the hint.

                “Later.” Spy says, “I should see if they have some sort of cigarettes. Or even cigars.”

                “And gas.” Sniper says.

                He meant it as a _suggestion_ , knowing the Spy to be the type to refuse menial tasks. Strangely, he sees from one of the mirrors that Spy pulls out his disguise kit.

                “I know how you are Mundy.” Spy says, “As much effort as it is to do this, I will do this favor for you. Give you privacy in a filthy gas station bathroom. Repay you for this morning and the trip.”

                Sniper will take it for what it is. Means they wouldn’t linger all that long after he has his time alone.

                * * *

                Sniper had to splash water on his face again. He drove too much on too little sleep, now that he realized it. He had enough time to get his bearings in the tiny bathroom. Ain’t the worst, given the circumstances. But he was able to catch where they were at, based on the name of the gas station. He went the longer route by mistake, meaning he was three hours away from base. He accidentally went towards a way he goes for a camping ground, to hunt, be alone during off days…

                He doubts he could actually drive those three hours, wouldn’t be safe. Not to mention he hardly trusted the Spook to be in a state to drive. That was going to be fun to explain.

                They had plenty of time, could drive when it’s early in the morning. He had cans of food hiding somewhere in the van…

                As he thought over the hassle of having to explain the situation to Spy, he heard the sounds of loud shouting. In French.

                “Bloody hell.” He mumbles.

                No more avoiding it, Spy probably was threatening to kill someone. Sniper had to stop it.  
                Stepping outside, he saw another campervan.  
                Lawrence’s.  
                He knew it from anywhere, it was an older model, which the two gotten into interesting debates over it. Lawrence was pressed against it, a blond haired man in a blue suit threating him with a knife at his throat. Spy?

                “Oh bugger.” He says.

                Lawrence spotted him, seeming ready to call out for Sniper. Well, only for Spy to grab the front of Lawrence’s shirt, pull him back slightly and slam him back on his van. His sunglasses slide off his nose slightly, showing more of his face.  
                Seems his own spy made him as nervous as the RED Spy does.

                “Spook!” Sniper calls.

                “Bloody Spook, I’ve been trying to tell you-.” Lawrence starts.

                Spy moves his knife away from Lawrence’s throat, shoving his arm against it to turn to Sniper. His eyes looked different, not the same slate sort of blue that both the Spies shared. This looked more like hazel, similar at least.

                “Mundy, I promise I will not take long. I need to know why my colleague is following me.” He says.

                Sniper and Lawrence knew the answer: he wasn’t. Lawrence hunts in the same area, only tries to avoid going when Sniper does. Reckoned Lawrence wanted to get some time alone, with Ceasefire being a bit longer than a day still.  
                Sniper knew the Spook hesitated. Probably due to how he left his sunglasses and akubra in the van, wouldn’t be too hard to read him. Just one more irritation for the pile…

                “You don’t want to know why?!” Spy asks.

                “I ain’t said that, it’s… just I ain’t surprised Lawrence is here.” Sniper says.

                Spy frowns, turning to look back to Lawrence. Whatever sort of attention he gotten out of the Spook was gone. He was completely focused on Lawrence, talking to him in French. He knew Lawrence understood, though Sniper could only catch a couple words here and there. The accusations starting to seem ridiculous, given the way Lawrence was groaning.  
                Bloody. Spook.

                “Oh come on you Nance! Listen to us for once!” Sniper says.

                He regretted those words right after they left his mouth. Spy did stop, and slowly turn to face Sniper once more. He had that kind of smile, where he seemed to wonder if you said what you did. Didn’t matter that he knew the words came out the person’s mouth, but Sniper figured it was the Spy’s way of giving a warning.  
                The distinct one where he was mentally debating if today was the day he was going to gut you and string the carcass over coals.

                “Ah piss.” Sniper says.

                In a blur of blue, Spy has him on the ground. He hears the blade stab into the ground, not certain how thankful he should be about that.

                “Bushman. Under no uncertain terms, if you call me a ‘Nance’ again, you will discover I can _make_ you one.” Spy says.

                “Right.” Sniper says, “Noted. Just erm, always caught your attention in battle.”

                “You definitely have it, but seems you are regretting that decision.” Spy says.

                Slightly, only slightly. If Lawrence was smart, he’d’ve found a spot to hide. Sniper stays still even as Spy moves up, looking around the area and hisses his displeasure.

                “Where is he…” Spy says.

                “Spook.” Sniper says, trying to sit up, “I know why he’s here.”

                Spy remains quiet, keeping still as he’s nervously flicking around his knife. Sniper doesn’t know how the man hasn’t cut himself yet. He stands, brushing off some of the dirt on his pants.

                “There’s a hunting place we both like that’s around here. I must have drove towards it out of habit. He’s not here after you, this is completely coincidental.” Sniper says.

                “ _Merde_.” Spy says, “How is it you both found this place?”

                “It’s got a nice tree.” Sniper says.

                Spy mutters about the gentleman’s hunting post, hissing as he walks off. Sniper follows, seeing Spy get into his van and slam the door. He was going to ask about gas, though saw that it was filling up. He puts the pump back up, getting back in the van. He puts his hat and glasses back on, not thinking much on food he wanted to get and drives off. He spies from the mirror that Lawrence was on the roof of the van, and watched them leave.

                “I do not understand why you like these sweets.” Spy says.

                Spy held something out for him, Sniper was careful when he took it. And he could barely process what he saw. A Zero bar, with a bite in it. He shrugs, eating it quickly so that he can go back to focusing on the road. Out of all the things….

                “Do not get me wrong Mundy, I will eat sweets. Opera cake, tiramisu, macaroons… Could even see me eat flan. But those candy bars are nothing short of disgusting.” Spy says.

                “Are you going to complain about snack foods for the drive?” Sniper asks, “did you even get anything to drink.”

                He feels a bottle pressed on his side. Cold. He snatches the bottle from Spy, seeing that it’s just water. Bloody Spook, must hate soda.

                “What else am I supposed to do? Smoke cheap cigarettes and be stuck in my mind?” Spy asks.

                “But complaining about snack foods.” Sniper says.

                Sniper drinks some of the water, waiting for the Spy to see what Sniper was trying to bring up. He’s secretly hoping the hint was there enough…

                “What are you implying bushman?” Spy asks.

                Dammit.

                “Got a small problem.” Sniper says.

                He hears the other man give a dejected groan. More muttering in French, which most of it was a string of curses. Had no idea what it would sound like in English, but it would probably be ridiculous.

                “What sort of ‘small’ problem?” Spy asks.

                “There’s no way we can head back to the base.” Sniper says.

                “… Why?” Spy asks.

                Sniper was ready to tell the truth, he’s tired. But he hears a sound from the van, gripping on the steering wheel of the van. He thought there was enough downtime, enough to wait this out… ah piss. Spy heard it too, and did not question when Sniper pulled to the side, going away from the road until he was sure he’d be left alone.  
                Both of them exit the van, Spy keeping to the side as Sniper checked a couple things. Damned radiator was giving him some problems every so often, and driving this the way he did to get to the Spy’s errand didn’t help. Well, van had water stored away and…

                “How much water did you buy?” Sniper asks.

                “What the cashier recommended when I said I was going on a hunting expedition with a colleague.” Spy says.

                Which would be quite a bit of water. Enough to settle for the night. Sniper finds it in the back of the van, seeing that Spy had enough sense to have it put in the secured box with the canned food. He takes a couple bottles, beginning to refill the radiator. Did not mean it was safe for driving, he’d have to wait hours, at least. Once done, he closes the hood and goes back in the van. Spy follows, his tone changing.

                “Are we stuck here?” Spy asks.

                “It’d be wise to wait.” Sniper says.

                “But the sun is setting. I know Lawrence does not drive his at night, I know it will be the same with you.” Spy says.

                Sniper often drives anyway, the lights were enough for him to risk it. That, and he gotten used to the area around the bases they’re stationed to. He saw how panicked Spy was, and figured he needed to ask the question.

                “Spook. Do you actually want to get back today?” Sniper asks.

                Spy was prepared to say yes, biting back the words as he thought on the question. Sniper sits down, drinking from another water bottle. He had a feeling he knew what Spy was thinking.

                “I… _non_.” Spy says, “I do not want to deal with the Medic or the Laborer, they will have so many questions…”

                “Then we’ll wait it out. We can waste the night and I can get driving in the morning.” Sniper says.

                Besides, heading back the day Ceasefire ends means that there’s less time for them to question Spy. Something Sniper realized before the Spy did. Spy sits down at the kitchenette, lost and defeated. He had his hands clasped in front of him, staring at the space his arm makes.

                “I have the typical ration cans we get at the base, since you seemed disinterested in gas station food.” Sniper says.

                “I do not know which is worse.” Spy says, “I suppose I need the energy.”

                Sniper searches through the cans to see what he has. Even has a can of peaches, making a sound of disgust as he tosses them aside. He threw it towards where Spy would be, shifting back towards him. He thought that maybe he hit the Spook when he didn’t hear it land against the wall, but turns out, he caught it.  
                And was working on opening them with his knife.

                “As much as these are overly drenched in syrup, I love peaches.” Spy says.

                “Have them. I can’t.” Sniper says.

                It was the strangest allergy, his Medic poked fun at him for it. Not that Sniper even liked the texture of them, before the hives started to set in.  
                Sniper eventually finds a can of that weird pork meat that Solly talks so much about, not having the energy to try to cook it and eats it cold with a spoon he finds. Salted, cold pork with vague bits of ham. Sniper eventually saw how it horrified the Spook as he was carefully using his fingers to eat the peaches.  
                Sniper hadn’t seen him take off a glove, finding the bare hand peculiar looking. Well, looked paler than the little bits of skin Sniper usually saw.

                “I cannot believe you eat that.” Spy says.

                “It’s food mate, I’m more surprised you’re risking getting cut on the can doing that.” Sniper says.

                Spy does not have a retort, eating the peach he had in his hand and wipes it with a handkerchief. Soon, he’s shrugging off his suit jacket, Sniper thinking of doing the same. It was hotter outside, but did not change the heat overall. What he found stranger was that Spy was unbuttoning his shirt.

                “Spook?” Sniper says.

                “I have been in this for over a day. I need this off.” Spy says.

                Didn’t stop there, he even slips off the undershirt and has them all folded neatly beside him. Sniper couldn’t help but stare at his chest, seeing the blue roses that extend on it. That was not what he was expecting.

                “Never thought I’d see a Spook with tattoos.” Sniper says.

                Spy chuckles, leaning closer with his typical amused expression he has. Sniper wasn’t sure how much of this was genuine or an act.

                “Are you honestly that surprised?” Spy says.

                “A bit.” Sniper says.

                “Good. Always keep people on their toes.” Spy says.

                They finish eating in silence, Spy eventually gives in and takes a spoon. For someone who hated the syrup, he did not mind scooping it out. Sniper doesn’t comment on it, knowing that this kind of peace was… well, temporary. Fragile.  
                Not much he can do about it.  
                Sniper tosses his can away in the garbage he has, the spoon in the small sink for him to deal with later. He strips out of more clothing, climbing up to his bed that doesn’t fit him that well. He sets his hat on a hook he put nearby, sunglasses… somewhere he can reach them.  
                What he was not expecting was for the Spook to join him.

                “What the bloody-.” He starts.

                “I need this.” Spy says.

                Sniper debated just how much he minded. Thought of conversations they had when they gotten on ‘friendlier’ terms. Well, less hostile. Both of them used bits of the information they gave privately, during spats.  
                One of which was Sniper’s preference in men, and Spy giving little care as to what gender his partner was… as well as the number. Spy told him of one time he was with five others, saying that while he had fun it was rather mediocre over the grand scheme of things.

                “Fine.” Sniper says, “Just…”

                He looked down at the Spook who positioned himself in the corner, laying his head on the Sniper’s chest. And Sniper noticed he stripped most his clothing, sans a pair of boxer briefs and his balaclava. Sure, Sniper usually sleeps nude, and kept his pants on out of politeness…  
                Bloody hell.  
                It’s like the Spook knew that he fit under the Sniper’s types, despite never clarifying it for him. All he really said that all the Sheila’s he dated never particularly done much for satisfaction, and usually preferred to be alone anyhow.  
                Sniper was also sure the Spook was as tired as he was, and wanted someone to cuddle. Maybe. Who knew.

                “Just sleep Spook.” Sniper says.

* * *

                Sniper wakes up to hear crying. The kind of whimpering he was expecting to hear earlier. There was no light in the van, but guessing what time it was…  
                Didn’t matter. He turns to the other side, trying to be careful given his limbs. Spook was curled into himself, trying to keep his crying low. He had his back facing the Sniper, reacting when he gently touches his side.

                “Mundy…” he mutters.

                Sniper sighs, carefully getting out of bed. Painkillers were somewhere. As was water. His eyes adjust in the darkness, and he manages to find the bottle of painkillers that the Spook must have brought on the table. He brings them back in bed, watching him take them in his crumpled state.

                “ _Merci_ …” he says weakly.

                They both knew it would take some time for the pills to work. Sniper grabs the empty bottle, tossing it from the bed so that he can avoid any potential surprises. Such as accidentally squeezing it and falling off the bed in surprise.  
                Happened once.  
                He slowly wraps his arms around the Spy, knowing that he must need this. It takes some time, but eventually Spy faced towards him once more, burying his head in the Sniper’s chest. It felt… a bit awkward, if he was being honest. Enemies, cuddling close and neither of them are threatening the other.  
                Ah piss, this was going to get interesting in the morning. He had no idea what sort of feelings he had for the Spy, but all this would do…  
                Well, considering how much the Spy flirts with him, Sniper should have had a feeling. Spy knew exactly what he was doing, or he felt a lot more comfortable knowing Sniper did not mind what he was before. Maybe tomorrow he could get an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, yeah, kinda wished I waited on that separate work I made (Errors, Jests, and Secrets) but I guess it's fine that some people knew that Mick knew about Lawrence.  
> Spy still doesn't though (neither of the spies do)  
> Also I love Zero bars.  
> by the way, I actually wrote the next chapter of Winging It. I (unfortunately) have to hold it back and write the next chapter. It'll spoil a plot point for this work. 5k+ of work that has to wait... ah....  
> In response I started writing another bakery AU. Because why me, finish an idea why don't you.


	8. Nail- BLU Spy (part one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is the nail that ruins you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long to write. It froze up all my other writing (sans the packer incident work that was 100% self-indulgent drivel) so...  
> I had to split it in two. (it was for a practical reason, I promise)  
> Expect the next part soon(ish).  
> (I'm aiming for tonight but no promises)

                Spy smokes a cigarette as the Sniper works on the van. It’s early in the morning, early enough for light and enough for the Sniper to have enough time sorting out his vehicle problems without dealing with the heat.  
                Spy takes this for the small blessing it is. Gave him time out of his balaclava, letting it soak in the sink. Felt filthy on his skin, couldn’t stand it. He had a spare in his suit, thankfully. He may have to start finding spots to hide a spare suit… Well, if Sniper even allowed him back, let this… infatuation? Courtship? Attraction? Let whatever this is come to a fruition.  
                Ah, it all diverges for the want of a nail… Again. Just like the issues surrounding his body.

                He shakes his head. Stupid, stupid saying. Something his old friend _Ignasi_ would say.

                “Ah what we’d do for the nail that leaves us ruined.” Spy mutters.

                He wouldn’t want the fucking nail if he could live in peace knowing…  
                Knowing what exactly?  
                Many answers came to his mind, but before he could think deeply on it, he hears the hood of the van slam down. Spy finds himself pulling the new balaclava on, listening to the crunching footsteps that come from the Sniper.  
                He knocks on the door, perhaps out of politeness, and enters when Spy does not respond. Only, he stays at the door, keeping it open as he stares inside. Spy assumed it was staring, the man was wearing his sunglasses.

                “You found… another one?” Sniper asks.

                Spy was about to ask what Sniper meant. Then he stares at the table, right where Sniper appeared to be approaching.  
                His packer was sitting on it, and he completely forgot that he took it off before bed.

                “Oh.” Spy says.

                Wearing his cock might help this melancholic mood. Spy takes hold of it, thankful he’s wearing his trousers as he works on settling it properly. Spy does see the Sniper watch, for a couple moments, then he’s stepping inside and heads for the stovetop. He’s set on making coffee for himself, probably to keep from staring. His hands, arms, and shirt was dirty with oil and grime. It’s a very masculine smell.

                “Were you the one who hid all those flaccid dicks around the base?” Sniper asks.

                “One, I received five hundred, and many wouldn’t ‘fit.’ Mon Dieu, many were defective. Two, I was drunk on sake, and I barely remember that I was dared to do so. Three, it wasn’t as though I could return them, and they were going to go to waste.” Spy says.

                On if Sniper understands, Spy isn’t certain. Spy and the rest of BLU thought it was a funny joke, since occasionally another one will appear from somewhere. Most figured out he did it, mostly because he drank a strong alcohol to the point of drunkenness and he was laughing too hard during that battle…  
                No one would tell him what else he did while drunk. He doubts he’ll ever find out, but he does recall a couple embarrassing moments. But, worst he can recall was hiding the packers on a dare. The reward was a chocolate covered ice cream bar.  
                Not the worst thing he’s done while drunk, despite that confectionary being far below many of his standards.

                “We could leave now, if you want.” He offers.

                It would be wise. Spy had many other things on his mind, especially with his mood in general. Sniper tries wiping off the oil from his hand and arms, though it seems it just spreads around. He gives up, muttering something about a soap he’s missing.  
                Sniper speaks again when Spy offers no response.

                “Or… we could talk?” Sniper offers.

                “For a bit.” Spy says, “My energy does not seem to be improving… No idea what that will do for my tolerance.”

                Spy pondered what Sniper could say, he half expected the man to sit, so they could begin talking. Sniper goes to his stash of canned foods, bringing out another can of peaches and a tin of… salmon. He offers both to Spy, and goes back to searching.

                “Would _you_ rather head back now?” Spy asks.

                “Personally? I’m not sure I’m the right person you should be talking to.” Sniper says.

                On the short list of things Spy felt, offended was at the top. He slowly stood up, doing everything in his power to keep from pulling out his knife to stab the insufferable man. How dare him! Spy trusted him with so much information, and this is his response?  
                Sniper ignored Spy, keeping his back to the other, and it was enough for Spy to pause. Whenever some sort of argument was going to boil over a silly thing, neither one would do such a thing. Spy takes in a deep breath, waiting to see if Sniper had more to say.

                “Now that you’re done getting your knickers in a twist, I do know someone who could help you.” Sniper says.

                “Let me guess. The Pyros.” Spy says.

                Sniper made a couple sounds, ones that could be thinking. Or confusion. Sniper glances back, his uncertainty showing just in how crooked his sunglasses were.

                “You…” Sniper starts, “Ah fuck, if I just come out and say it, that piker will kill me. Many times.”

                “What is it Mundy.” Spy says.

                “I know how he feels about the Pyros. Helps, but would have been better to have someone like him.” Sniper says, “Though. Guess you don’t know another person like you.”

                Spy lounges back in his seat, taking in what the Sniper said.  
                There’s another person like him? Born a woman, then transitioned into a man? Spy recalls through his vast knowledge of documents he has seen on all the mercenaries, finding nothing that could immediately clue him on the person’s identity. There are a couple of the usual discrepancies of actions made classified, the blatant example being the Pyros, but nothing like his file. Nothing that erased years, made too many details vague and suspicious.  
                Peculiar. How did this slip past him?

                “It would have been nice to know.” Spy admits, “I have a friend who is like me, but our main contact is through letters and secret messages. Occasionally he will send me packages with no real address attached to it, though we cannot talk as we used to. And here I have found… you know another.”

                It started making sense, the earlier interactions. Perhaps Sniper was trailing the questions with what he garnered from the other man… maybe Spy’s own responses prompted Sniper to rethink how he was approaching the conversation.

                “I doubt I have permission just to say who it is.” Sniper says, “But, he trusts the Pyros. Thinkin’ if you end up trusting either one of them, maybe you two can talk.”

                It’s an interesting way to keep a veil of secrecy, with people who are open about an aspect of their lives, who can find supportive people. The main problem with Sniper’s thought process was that Spy did not trust his Pyro. They went to the Engineer far too often, and one secret that he let slip made its way to the Laborer (and it was about an _allergy_ ). Talking to the RED Pyro… was not possible.  
                But Spy may not have a choice in the matter.

                “I hope you realize you put me in an awkward position.” Spy says, “But it seems you know no other alternative.”

                “It’d take a couple days until I could talk to him myself. And I doubt you would actually give me permission to mention you used to be a Sheila.” Sniper says.

                Spy chuckled at that little distinction.

                “ _Au contraire_ , I was always a man.” Spy says, “It only took years for my body to match what I always knew.”

                “Huh. Thought you’d separate the time you were a Sheila with the now.” Sniper says.

                “Some people do. I have, in the past. But I find it easier to accept I have always known, and the mismatched body did not fit, instead of I was once a woman and now I am not.” Spy says.

                Many have called such a topic an issue of semantics. Spy cared little for discussing semantics when it came to this, activists could argue that on their own time. He knows how he feels, and accepts others may disagree.  
                In any case, he knows he has limited options and he would love to talk to another person like him. Sniper may have came about this in a convoluted way, but Spy knew the man was right.

                “Fine Mundy. I’ll take the few days it needs to discuss with Pyro.” Spy says.

* * *

                The driving was… okay. Mostly uneventful, a couple of conversations though Spy could tell that Sniper was uncertain about bringing up topics. Spy thought of a couple stories, thinking of a particularly heinous incident at the illegal hookah lounge he managed with his friend.

                “Of course, the bastards had to break the good hookah. Eccentric was pissed about that, said it’d take a month before we could get the Egyptian hookahs, but we did have a back stock of Moroccan ones.” Spy says.

                “What’s the difference between them?” Sniper asks.

                “Not much, just the Moroccan ones were difficult to clean.” Spy says.

                “No, I mean the favors. How can you tell?” Sniper asks.

                “How can you tell the difference between your brand of cigarettes and mine?” Spy asks, “The difference here is similar. But no, that was not even the worst part. It was when the clients came back with family. I only heard much of the conversation second hand, I could not speak Arabic as well as Eccentric could…”

                Spy went on to explain the colorful assortment of language that Eccentric gave back secondhand, which he had to take at face value. He did admit that he doubted all of it was true, given his friend and that Spy knew a few of the colorful slurs passed around, but he accepted the edited version for honor purposes. Whose honor, Spy never determined.  
                Other similar stories started flowing, though Spy kept it centered on the hookah longue. There were a couple reasons why, but Spy figured he had plenty of stories to keep them occupied for the drive. That, and he was starting to recognize patches of desert and a few of the gas stations they passed, knowing that later on today Ceasefire would end and there would be plenty of time for a few matches.  
                To keep his mind off it, he knew a couple tamer disasters.

                “We had a few Australian tourists once. A woman wore a hat like yours, now that I think of… it.” Spy says.

                He ponders over the memory. Some details were coming to mind, especially the woman’s face and eyes. Though, she hid them behind glasses…  
                Spy continues his story, using it as a way to check over the details. Spy recollects that he knew they were soldiers, but knew so little of Australia that he could not tell what sort. Eccentric knew enough to say that it was a specialized sniping branch, which told him nothing practical. What made the story so interesting was that the woman was a translator, knew Arabic, Castilian Spanish, Basque, and French. Such an unusual combination, but it put them both on their toes. Meant they couldn’t insult the guests, or make a couple comments on what they thought (as they did on occasion).  
                Well, shouldn’t insult the guests was the main idea. Eccentric still did it, but never to the Australians. Until the translator was repeating all the insults, in English. Spy heard her companions ask what was being said, out of vague curiosity. Eccentric took it as a challenge.

                “So you mean to say your friend, the eccentric fellow, decided to round through the most creative insults he could. Just to see how well of a translator the woman was?” Sniper asks.

                “Eccentric told me that he did it to see what would happen.” Spy says.

                “What _did_ happen?” Sniper asks.

                Spy was prepared to respond, but he saw the looming bases. Would still be a twenty minute drive, but he would have to plan his return to BLU.

                “Ah, remind me later. Just. Find a place close between the two so I can manage my way inside.” Spy says.

                “How will you…?” Sniper starts.

                Spy pulls out his watch, checking the charge on it. Plenty, he may still ask the Engineer to check the battery. Else, he will have to use a different watch if the problem is bigger than a dying battery.

                It does not take long for Spy to make his way into the base, it takes him longer to avoid others. Lawrence was on watch outside, and the others were spread through the base. While he was showering in his private quarters, someone slips a note into his room.  
                It’s the Medic. Asking him to complete his check up, and that he cannot use battle as an excuse to miss it. More because there would be no battle for the day.  
                Strange.  
                Spy shrugs it off, getting into cleaner clothes as he ponders what he should do. Talking to Pyro is on the list, and he does intend on seeing the Medic.  
                Could he convince Pyro to come with him? Not that he didn’t trust his own Medic, but there is comfort in having someone who has some sort of understanding. Spy thinks Pyro could be that company he needs…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nail was always metaphorical.  
> You can think of it in terms of what is lacking or what is wanted.  
> For some, it's both.  
> For the BLU Spy, he's got many nails he wants and lacks. This part should have shown a few of them. The next shows how he handles it (I hope)  
> I intended for a sex scene but... (legit deals with how Spy is on the menses, and I went "I know what I want to write, so I have to wait until it's a few days in story") Sorry.  
> (if you really want to know about the packer incident, there is a story up that I should have finished soonish. I am considering writing the Refrigerator Incident, but that seems... a bit much.)  
> Bonus chapters featuring the RED Spy are in progress  
> (btw I want to know what other trans topics people would like me to explore. Just out of curiosity)


	9. Nail- BLU Spy (part two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would you do for the nail?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a "visit to the doctors."  
> Like your first visit, where you've gotta be completely honest (well, as honest as you can). Because what your doctor knows is filtered, you're in pain, and you need treatment that requires absolute trust you can't get from a first visit.  
> I don't like first doctor visits. And I'm sure others don't like it either.  
> A lot of information here gets sprinkled around in other works, so you can go without reading the doctor's visit if you'd like (I have marked it as 'the point of no return' and it is perfectly fine to skip it)  
> Always could do for more friendly Spy/Pyro.

                As he expects, he finds the Pyro with the Engineer. The Laborer appeared busy with a new blueprint, all while Pyro is sprawled on the ground, coloring in a drawing. One of Lawrence’s line works, much like stained glass. They miraculously managed to stay in the lines.

                “Welcome back Spy.” Engineer says.

                He did not turn around from his work, but Spy noted his tone.  
                It was going to be a _long_ night.

                “Pleased to be back, after my excursion. Only, I have not come here to talk to you. I needed Pyro, actually.” Spy says.

                Pyro looks up from their work, tilting their head at the Spy. Engineer moves his hands away from the contraption he was working on, turning in his chair to look at him.  
                The worst people to get caught between, with one wearing a gas mask and the other wearing goggles. No idea what the eyes would tell him. Well, the Engineer is frowning.  
                Was it the way Spy said it?

                “And I reckon you wanted Pyro in private.” Engineer says.

                “I do recall saying I needed Pyro. I would have included you in the conversation if I needed you as well.” Spy says.

                That wasn’t the best way to say it, Spy knew it. He saw the Engineer’s fingers twitch, as though he was half tempted to grab his giant wrench and throw it. Spy would more than likely deserve it is the worst part.

                “I also reckon you did not see Medic, he told me he left you a note.” Engineer says.

                Spy debates his options.  
                None looked well: he could admit the truth, and be called a liar. Sidestep the truth, have the Engineer call over people to force him to see the Medic. Could leave, but that would likely make the situation worse given the first incident… His Smoking Room was still a massive mess, he suspects.  
                He hardly believes it was barely two days ago.  
                Spy takes in a deep breath, knowing he would have to be cautious about how he says this.

                “I had a long couple days Dell.” Spy says, “I do intend on seeing our doctor. Nevertheless, I need to talk with Pyro first. I understand if they refuse, though I would hope they understand I am in dire need of their company, I…”

                Dell crosses his arms, frowning his usual ‘I’m disappointed’ frown. Spy suspects Dell hasn’t said anything due to Pyro slowly rising on their feet. Spy directs his attention to Pyro, hoping that they can see he’s being sincere.

                “ _Mon amie_ , I need your help. I am… afraid. And you are the one person I know I could turn to.” Spy says.

                Spy had little chance to react, seeing Pyro wobble to him and embraces him tightly. He sighs, moving his hand to pat their back, but decides he should return their embrace. It’s not as firm as theirs, but Pyro appreciates it all the same.  
                Dell grumbles, his chair scraping and the sound of a couple tools scratching on his workbench resume.

                “Their choice, but you still owe me an explanation.” Dell says.

                Spy hopes he can get out of it for a few days. Pyro gently pulls themselves away but keeping their hands at his side, tilting their head. Most of their body postures elude… everyone, but Spy could guess.

                “Let us speak in your room. I haven’t had the chance to clean my space. After we talk, I promise I will visit the doctor.” Spy says.

                “Hudda!” they say.

                Pyro meanders their way out of the Engineer’s workshop, Spy following at their pace. He reaches for his disguise kit, opening it to see a folded photograph. There’s a small note written in red: ‘ _I now realize it’s yours. With all my apologies._ ’  
                So that’s where her photograph went… He thought back to the time he gotten drunk, knowing he lost track of it around then. The sinking realization that the RED Spy knew…

                “Spoo?” Pyro asks.

                He must have been standing still for too long. He closes the disguise kit, deciding against the smoke.

                “ _Désolé_. I will explain in the room.” Spy says.

                Pyro shrugs, ambling to their room, opening it up and gives a mock bow to welcome Spy inside.  
                Most people would presume that Pyro’s room was full of color. That much is true. Powder blues with pink accents on the wall, and orderly shelves filled with an assortment of objects: a weapon’s rack, organized artist’s corner, and books.  
                To say that Pyro is messy never looked past their drawings. They are perhaps the cleanest person on the base.  
                Pyro closes the door behind them, moving to sit on their bed. They pat on a spot next to them, already snuggled with their Balloonicorn. Not the balloon variant, the stuffed plush doll one. When he sits down, Pyro has offered the toy to him.  
                Like any respectable gentleman, he takes the toy and tries not to stare at it in deep contemplation while it sits on his lap. Pyro waits on him, politely keeping still so that he can collect his thoughts. He does register that his hands are squeezing on the toy.

                “I… never like doing this.” Spy says, “It feels like admitting I am fake.”

                Like he’s always Antoinette, the girl that had to grow up far too quickly to survive. People wondered why Spy did silly, frivolous things. The dancing, expensive tastes, and the erratic nature where people presumed he was a death seeker. Some compared him to the RED Spy, who was similar, but always described with such… prim, properness.  
                Everything he grew up to be, to a certain extent.  
                It was all the wrong sort of ironic.

                “I wouldn’t be so broken if God had made me a man in the first place.” Spy says.

                Wasn’t what he intended on saying, but it got the point across. Pyro turns to him, hands out as if they’re ready to embrace him. Instead, they lean over, gently coaxing Spy to let go of the Balloonicorn he was clutching on, not to take it away… But to have him embrace it.  
                While he couldn’t feel the softness, he could tell it was meant for… cuddling. Spy only wished it was warmer.

                “I have a feeling everyone suspects.” Spy admits.

                “Nnuu.” Pyro says.

                “You don’t have to lie for my wellbeing.” Spy says.

                Pyro shakes their head, taking a hold of his arm and squeezes gently. Assurance, most likely.

                “Alright. You are… Not the first to know. I know the Medic has been vaguely aware. But three people on RED know, and it’s two more than what I would have liked.” Spy says.

                “Rrifrrdrtru?” Pyro asks.

                Spy fears he might squeeze the stuffing out of their toy, burying his face into it at the Pyro’s mention of the _Refrigerator_. He cannot stand the smell of baboon blood, mayo, and doves. Whenever he thinks of it, he could only smell nothing but that.  
                But, the Balloonicorn manages to help him out of the mindset. He smells… Such a fresh, seaside scent. Reminded him of Marseille, and there was a hint of ash that brought him to the hookah longue in Bizkaia. It has been far too long since he’s been in either France or Basque.

                “Can I ask a favor of you?” Spy asks.

                Pyro does not move, which he takes as a good sign.  
                He explains his nervousness on seeing the Medic, and asks Pyro to come with him. Pyro expresses some confusion, asking if Spy’s making a mistake asking them this favor.

                “There is no one else on this team I could ask.” Spy says, “I know you understand many of my issues, in some extent. And the relief of having someone in the room with me… Besides, you get to see my face.”

                Everyone wants to see his face, and he knew Pyro was no different. It was a kind of morbid curiosity everyone had, though most presumed it was work related. Spy figured he would more than likely deal with the fee associated with the violation, but he hoped it would be overlooked.

* * * (the point of no return)

                Spy was not sure if he was surprised that the Medic hardly argued Pyro’s presence, or the fact that he willingly trusted them with his disguise kit. He already heard it click open, but he knew they would do that. He would have done the same with RED’s.  
                Medic was being patient, though Spy could hear the ‘polite’ coughs.

                “I am not stripping my underwear.” Spy says.

                “You know, before I lost my medical license, I did study gynaecology.” Medic says.

                “Comforting.” Spy deadpans, “Except you will not do so while I am bleeding. _It hurts_.”

                Medic starts arguing about how it’s ‘just blood,’ which makes him lift the curtain away to glare at the man. Spy took great pride in spooking the man, watching him toss a clipboard in the air and spooking his doves.

                “You enjoy looking like a hawk, do you?” Medic asks.

                “As I have told others, I _like_ my nose.” Spy says.

                The hospital gown helped with some of his discomfort, though it did not change how tense he was when he sat down on the infirmary bed. Medic collected the clipboard, all while Pyro was looking at the photograph.

                “So. I have a great deal of what you should know are standard questions, since it appears your medical file was missing some details. Especially considering your UBER upgrade was performed by a different Medic, there is a great deal he has hidden from me.” Medic says.

                Spy does not offer to correct the Medic and tell him a woman operated on him, instead listening for Medic to ask the typical questions. Was he on any drugs? Did he have a hysterectomy? What surgeries did he have? For the surgeries, Spy had to show him, guide him to all the details. He had a masculinization surgery on his face, of which many of the scars were too faint or were easily mistaken for torture marks.

                “Those have healed spectacularly.” Medic says.

                “With how much money I put into this, I would hope so. The same could not be said for my chest.” Spy says.

                Spy lowers the gown, showing off the flower tattoos. He trails over the surgery scar, one of which was severely misshapen. He never got a proper explanation as to why, but even with the tattoo, Medic was already feeling the mark on his right side.

                “Hrm. Interesting error, though I cannot say this was an intentional one.” Medic says.

                As much as it would be comforting, it did not bring him much relief. He paid so much money, just to have this error…

                “I have seen worse.” Spy admits, “My friend said I was lucky. But, the mark was ugly enough that I sought to hide it.”

                Medic examines him further, even checks on the tattoo to make sure it did not cause other problems. He was given a couple more easy questions: who was the doctor he referred to before? Did he see a psychologist too? What were some of the recorded changes he felt while on testosterone?  
                Then came one of the dreaded ones.

                “Did you have any children?” Medic asks.

                “One, a daughter.” Spy says.

                “How old were you?”

                “Eighteen… nineteen? I do not quite recall what age.” He says.

                “Hm. She would be close to the Scout’s age, now that I think of it…” Medic says.

                Spy hears him scribble a couple notes, and he’s waiting for the other angle. The questions he didn’t want to answer, the old shames and the ones he would never know.

                “Many of the details of your teenaged to young adult years are missing.” Medic says, “Though, with the inclusion of a daughter, I am intrigued.”

                “I would prefer that you weren’t.” Spy says.

                “Ah, but this is about your health. And sexual partners influence the body, diseases have a tendency to hide for years. While I am certain everything was flushed from your system, it would not change the damage it potentially caused.” Medic says.

                Spy knows this all too well, which was why he went to many doctors. So far, he’s been lucky. He should have gotten many diseases just from the sex acts alone, not to mention all the other things he’s done for fun.  
                But digging up all those old files would take far too much time, for the Medic’s liking.

                “When were you first sexually active?” Medic asks.

                Spy clenches his fists.  
                He’s never told anyone the truth. He never will.

                “I don’t know.” He lies.

                It got both their attentions. He keeps his eyes on his fists, seeing them clenched on the gown. Medic processed what he should be asking, though Spy hears the clipboard fall again. He feels someone with far too much body heat wrap their arms around him, seeing one of the rubber gloves Pyro wears gripping onto his hand.  
                It gives him a small comfort.

                “Ah… I can see why you’re reserved Spy.” Medic says, “I think with what little you have given me, I will reach out to my contacts and see the best course of helping you there.”

                Spy could offer no response. He could talk about it fine with Eccentric, even get many laughs out of the matter. But, it left Spy with a soft spot for children. Many would say he did not know how to interact with them, though… he’s taught many how to defend themselves. That much he can say.

                Medic slowly resumes his questions, of which was severely edited. Pyro helps, them being there and keeping their arms around him helped him feel… Not safe, necessarily. Warm, comfortable, and able to respond to some questions. Many he could offer no real response, in part because he did not recall exact details.  
                When did he get his chest surgery? He recalled the facial reconstruction, but not his chest surgery.  
                He didn’t consider a hysterectomy for a very simple reason: he found no one he trusted to do it. When Medic asked for details, Spy noted that some surgeons were good about fucking over women, even when he went through his reliable sources to find sympathetic doctors. For one reason or another, there was always some sort of issue. By the time he found someone, she noted that sex was usually painful after the fact, and he decided waiting was in his best interest. But the names of the doctors? Nothing he could reliably recall, given most the names were fake and he suspects many of the doctors were dead. Then, when Medic pointed out that he should have been able to request a doctor from BLU, the answer changed, though did not clarify what.  
                Then there was questions about certain damage on his arm.

                “What do _you_ think was there?” Spy asks.

                “My testing suggested it was a tattoo, though I am unsure why it was cut into an unrecognizable mess.” Medic says.

                “Used to be numbers.” Spy says.

                A strange silence hangs in the air.  
                Medic sets his clipboard down somewhere, and he moves so that Spy could see his face. As energetic as the man seems, here… it all faded into seriousness.

                “I will not ask when. All I ask is why.” He says.

                “My friend and I were being tracked with them.” Spy says, “We both had to deface the proof.”

                Also prompted an assortment of new lies Spy hated using. But, the tattoos were far too damaged to tell the truth. Most non-Europeans know a slanted version of events, makes it easy to hide. But people like Demo, Medic, and Heavy, they would know the truth.

                “A pity, to take off such a mark… you survived many things, I see.” Medic says.

                The amount of things Spy survived… It almost paralleled a list of things he has lived for.  
                Seems they were competing with each other.  
                Medic moves away, though Pyro does not. They have kept their embrace firm, Spy eventually felt comfortable enough to lean his head on their shoulder. This helped, in a strange way. He wishes he had his old friend Eccentric, or perhaps Mundy… But Pyro made for great company.

                “I am going to contact some friends about what sort of dosage of testosterone you should be on.” Medic says, “As well as check into those in BLU that could give you a hysterectomy.”

                “No.” Spy says.

                “Oh? Well, suit yourself!” Medic says, “I will check on other surgeries, for my own curiosity. I know you mentioned you are fine the way you are, for now. I think what you need is rest, we do fight tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup. I need all the trans headcanons, and trans topics, pretty please?  
> And I want all the friendly Spy/Pyros (I just want more non-binary Pyro giving hugs, preferably with Spy not being an aloof bastard because he's not always an aloof bastard, but I mean I won't protest romance if I get cuteness)  
> also I censored some of the stuff in the doctor's visit because eventually I said "if I'm getting weirded out, readers probably feel more than a little uncomfortable. I don't need every single detail. I just need people to have this general feeling."  
> Next chapter is another BLU Spy, because he needs some uplifting.  
> twitter: @morpheusememori  
> writing tumblr: morpheusenmemori  
> generalized bs tumblr: prince-darkleboop


	10. The Inferno Ignasi (part one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rock, paper, scissors.

                This is stupid.  
                So stupid.  
                As a minor price for having Pyro’s newfound trust, they made Spy promise to a few stipulations. The first was that he would not use specific insults. Mostly gendered ones, though Pyro expressed they disliked an assortment of other comments Spy used.  
                That would normally not be an issue, except for the fact that Pyro noted the specific insults he used for the RED Pyro.  
                Which, when Pyro explained the second stipulation, it made sense. The upcoming weekend, Spy was going to the monthly tea party the Pyros have. The RED guest was to be determined, and the likelihood he would receive warning was slim.  
                Great.

                Third stipulation was just silly, which was Pyro wanted to sleep under his writing desk once. Spy relented, allowing Pyro to do so that night. It wasn’t… awful. He got his work done, Pyro seemingly gotten rest. It was a small price to pay…

                But stipulations one and two were going to be difficult.  
                Spy’s mood has improved significantly, Medic has already determined that he was not on a high enough dose of testosterone. Increasing the dose should fix some of his problems, he already feels invigorated after taking the new dose.  
                He knows the others have their questions, though Medic has managed to dismiss it. He said it was a kind of seasonal depression, Spy supposed that answer was close enough. There was not much people could do, even in battle. At least, that’s what he hoped…

                To say that battle was going less than spectacular was an understatement. So much to deal with, and everyone seemed exceptionally uncertain. Must be his presence. Must be… everything. Even the RED Pyro seems uncertain about burning him. They mumble at him, some sort of question he half understands.

                “Mon Dieu, you mumbling-.” Spy says.

                He’d normally say monster. Or girl. Or thing.

                “Miser! I should toss cash just so you can buy yourself something better!” Spy says.

                Not quite right. Miser was less offensive and he did throw out bills after killing an opponent. Only fair, the RED Spy was doing it. Pyro burned him for his statement either way, and he hoped everyone else would follow suit.  
                Was it the heat?  
                Was it the sudden ceasefire?  
                Was it a rumor he hasn’t heard yet?

                Was probably the last one. Best place to hear of a rumor was technically with the RED Sniper… Ah, no, too soon. He was still processing how he felt. It wasn’t that Spy did not appreciate what the RED Sniper did, but… there was much he had to think on. Perhaps after knowing all that he does now, there would be little chance to go past their occasionally friendly conversations.  
                It would be his own fault, doing things while emotionally compromised. He could have asked for Lawrence’s help. But then, that wouldn’t have been his Sniper… And he has such an awful relationship with Lawrence.  
                No helping it now.

                Instead, he figured the next best person to observe would be the RED Engineer. Everyone passes to him, for a quick breath by the dispenser, or for idle chat while nothing goes on. He’s on edge, and Pyro was nearby. Someone shot the both of them, and they were leaning against the dispenser and allowed the sentry to protect them.  
                Pyro was mumbling, too quickly for Spy to catch.

                “I don’t know what’s with the BLU Snake.” The laborer.

                More mumbling. Pyro was insistent on this.

                “I mean, I know what our Spy spoke about. Something about how nothing made sense to him. He still don’t quite got a handle on the BLU varmint, but he says that whatever’s going on with him, ain’t nothing that’ll keep him this way for long.” the laborer says.

                Spy caught the next bit of Pyro’s mumbles. They insisted that he was different, that for whatever reason, the BLU Spy has changed his insults completely. It was enough to get on Pyro’s radar, and they suspected a cruel trick.

                “Py, I promise ya, I’ll go talk to our Spy when he comes round here and see what he can glean from that. I know it’s bothering ya, but I promise, it shouldn’t be a thing.” The laborer says, “Maybe BLU got friendly with your counterpart and he’s trying to act all nice like. Same happens to everyone that goes to the tea parties, right?”

                Pyro grumbles, and the thought must disturb them as much as it does for Spy. Well, he’ll do anything for his teammate, since he found such an underst-.  
                Ah.  
                Spy wouldn’t have considered talking to his Pyro, if it weren’t for the RED Sniper. Clever man. Perhaps it was his way of helping, though it still left uncertainty in his own mind. He needed… more. Whatever Sniper could say that could help him understand, the whys and the whims.  
                It did not matter if it was an answer he didn’t want to hear, it would help if he were potentially pursuing a silly infatuation.

                The blaring sound alerted them. Stickybombs. The RED Engineer made a fatal mistake in his placement. He put the sentry around a corner.  
                Merde.  
                Spy was in a poor position. A bit of shrapnel hits him, he groans as he tries to cover his hip. He knew better, and this will be another stupid death in a strange day. The RED Engineer seems ready to go after him with a wrench… and Pyro gets between them.  
                Fast, loud, accusatory mumbles, all while pointing so accusingly at him.

                “Are you really doing this _now_? Why does it matter that I stopped saying certain insults?” Spy asks.

                “Hudda? Yhgn ghhtn be kikkin muh.” Pyro mumbles.

                “Then spell it out. Somehow. Just hope the ringing in my ears doesn’t cause me to misunderstand you.” Spy says.

                There’s many things he could do, but his mind focuses on the pain too much. He strains to hear Pyro, eventually getting the gist that they think he is trying a typical trick of some sort.  
                Only one problem.

                “For what purpose would I have in an elaborate hoax like that? Do you not realize you are asking someone who flung around glitter and flaccid cocks around the bases and battlefield as a _joke_?” Spy asks.

                “Nth a juuk?” Pyro asks.

                “If I wanted to pull a joke, just on you, which you deserve for how many times you set me aflame… I would venture most of my tricks would be related to ‘putting your flame out.’ That takes infinitely more set-up and has a larger payoff than just… insulting you differently.” Spy says.

                This feels far from redundant. Pyro refused to believe him, saying that all Spies were good for were tricks. He had a feeling RED has something to do with why Pyro was acting this way, recognizing the same belligerence in his teammate after a particularly bad match. Something wasn’t adding up, and he was missing a crucial piece of information that he needed.  
                The Engineer had already left Pyro to argue with Spy, and Spy… Well, he wasn’t truly in danger of dying, but the blood loss was unfortunate on his suit. Nowhere to run, really. He could try to shoot himself, but that would not fix this conversation. He thought of another idea…

                He pulls a hand away from the wound, making the telltale sign of a very silly battle game.

                “Rock, paper, scissors.” Spy says.

                Pyro look to him, and his hands. They’re not angry, nor confused. They simply stare at him, giving no indication of their emotions.  
                That was better than the earlier belligerence.

                “Hudda.” Pyro says.

                “I know you listen to everyone.” Spy says, “And perhaps you have listened to me be that Spy you expect of me for so long, that this is peculiar. Perhaps I deserve it too. But, is it too late to make amends? We’ll still fight during battle, but I would venture it would be… less hostile.”

                Pyro considers him for a moment. Then, they get into position to play a game.  
                Spy loses.

                “You got lucky.” He says.

                He never feels what happens, only that he always finds himself in respawn after losing that game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have fun trying to figure out what I mean by that title.  
> I spit this in parts because... well... I felt bad for leaving this alone for a month.  
> Yeah I posted other stuff, and yeah this is gentler (and the next part will also be gentle) but uh.  
> Have an update? A very small one?  
>  work with me here I have the second part under wraps and this one just wasn't working itself out like I had hoped but I NEEDED IT TO BE THERE TRUST ME


	11. The Inferno Ignasi (part two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spain,  
> secrets,  
> and reveals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy the double update (I actually thought I was gonna take a couple more days to write this, but I guess I was willing to rewrite a lot)

                Things get better. Spy wouldn’t say _normal_ , but people stopped with their apprehension and misunderstandings. He does not visit his Sniper, the tide of the battle was not in his favor (as well as starting to play with the RED Pyro. He even, eugh, danced the _do-si-do_ ). But, overall, everyone elected to treat the day for what it was: an awkward one where no one really felt the need to win. There would probably be some problems if this lasted a couple more days, but Miss Pauling was already set to interfere should the need arise.

                He hoped to avoid that, else he may be _reassigned_.

                Things were quiet in the base. Mostly. He normally avoids people, it’s more for his privacy than anything. Though, he remains out in the dining area, staying seated by Pyro and watches them focused on their drawings. Most others have taken to drinking, though with some moderation. Work tomorrow, after all.  
                Spain comes to mind: all those business endeavors. Still a Spy, in some shape, but not for aiding countries against a war machine. That came later, he and his friend took a break. They needed it, mentally. With all the flowing businesses they shared, most of the ideas coming from his friend. Spy partially thinks Spain came to mind because of Pyro.  
                The Inferno Ignasi was an act in a hookah lounge. A dance, elegant and dangerous, with a veil and flames. Ignasi became the inferno, who risked more than just minor singes if his dance went awry.  
                He knew how to dance it too. Pyro would be amused. Everyone might. It would be different…

                Spy wasn’t sure what possessed him. The thought of Spain ate at him too much as he went to his room. He pulls out one of the veils, his special lighter, and an old record. No one would particularly understand the music, it’s in Arabic. But, it’s Fairouz, and Ignasi convinced him to like Fairouz.  
                He takes refuge in one of the common areas, the only one with a record player. Sure, he could do this in his room, but he risks losing far too much if he does this incorrectly. At least in a common room, the only risk is to himself. Not that he really cared that people saw him, but he hoped it was a small number.   
                He sets the record, taking care to recall the steps of the dance Ignasi done. The veil was thicker than what he liked, it obscured his vision too much. It would mean it would burn slower, and the likelihood someone would see him was higher.  
  
                Spy had to remind himself, he’s playing a record, in a common room, and it’s in Arabic. Someone was going to get curious. It wasn’t often that he let whims take him, and damn it, he’s feeling nostalgic. Following the words was easy, recalling the steps was barely a chore, and the fact he was doing this in a suit barely phased him. It was when the flames started was when things gotten uncomfortable, but… he saw how the fabric burned. It would be roughly the same, and there was no shame in letting it fall to the ground, and let the flame burn out.  
                It wouldn’t be any different from Pyro singeing the place from time to time. He felt one of the flames burn his hand, and he lets go of the veil. He recalled a step Ignasi did when he was uncertain of the fabric. Wet the portion that he would grip on with water. It mattered not, the song ended anyhow.

                As Spy anticipated, people were watching him. He expected Pyro. He did not expect Sniper. Pyro was clapping their hands at the sight, cheering at the ‘explosion of color’ and was asking if Spy could dance again.

                “Nafarroa.” Sniper says.

                “Pardon?” Spy asks.

                “The longue, mostly known for hookahs and teas. Nafarroa. Featuring the Inferno Ignasi.” He says.

                How did he know that…? The only way anyone would know about the little place he and Ignasi had was if they were there. It wasn’t that popular, Ignasi knew how to get on people’s nerves and disturb the locale. Spy would remember someone like Sniper, especially Lawrence… The only Australians he recalled were the typical brutish sort, and a woman who served as a translator.

                _Wait._

                “You’re kidding me.” Spy says, “You’ve been there.”

                “When people were sure it was a tax haven.” Sniper says, “Meant that you’d be less likely to boot us out and cheat us, since we were military.”

                It had made him nervous when the Australians came in. Ignasi didn’t care, until it became clear the woman with them could understand French, Spanish, Catalan, Basque, and Arabic.  
                Sniper revealed he knew Spanish, long ago.

                “ _Fils de pute!_ You! You’re the translator!” Spy says.

                Pyro looks between them, shrugging as they go to the pile of ashes, collecting them in a bigger pile. The Sniper, Lawrence… Bastard had the gall to smirk. Why was Spy attracted to the RED team’s Sniper, why did he find such things attractive? Lawrence had some charm, but he made it clear that he was disinterested in relationships.  
                At least, with him.

                “Fooled you for years. Thought you would have known by now.” Lawrence says.

                Well, Spy _should_ know, given how often he’s gotten access to documents. Whoever done Lawrence’s was a godsend, because Spy was none the wiser. Everything looked so natural, and fitted. Seemed that it was based on actual service, since Spy did not find it particularly strange a lanky Australian was a sniper and a translator for the army.

                “Whoever done your records… let me know, there’s many details I would love smoothed over.” Spy says.

                “I don’t think you would need it for the same reason I did.” Lawrence says.

                “Oh, if only you knew… Then again, you _were_ there, and heard all our comments. I’m sure you connected the dots.” Spy says.

                Ignasi and Spy did not shy away from mentioning aspects of themselves. Why would they? They spoke an assortment of languages, and often would speak different ones to each other. Most people presumed that whatever they spoke of had an ambiguous gender, not that they used both male and female pronouns when it depended on their topics. As well as silly nicknames they had for each other.  
                Spy let Lawrence process his thoughts, returning to the record player to put up the vinyl. When he slips past Lawrence, heading for his room, he hears the marching step follow him. He does not bother to close the door behind him, hearing Lawrence step inside, shutting the door carefully.

                “You one too, aren’t ya?” Lawrence asks.

                “A what?” Spy asks.

                “Invert. Transgender. Whatever you call it.” Lawrence says.

                Now that brought some curiosity. Spy looks to his small library, picking out the book of interest. A sexology book that mentions the word transgender, since it’s not quite popular amongst people.

                “I never pegged you as someone who would read sexology books.” Spy says.

                “Well, I always thought I was the only bloke who…” Lawrence starts, “Ah, doesn’t matter. It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it?”

                “Ignasi was a better sniper than he was a spy. So, maybe it’s a trend. Spies and snipers being like us.” Spy says.

                Normally, finding someone else like him would be _exciting_. If it weren’t for how the two of them constantly bicker, as well as how they were competitive, perhaps this would have went differently. But, the tension eases, and they find themselves sitting. Talk comes, though neither one would say it was a comfortable chat. Spy was too reserved to mention surgeries, though Lawrence seemed more than open.  
                Was this the other person the RED Sniper was referring to…?

                “Mundy knows, doesn’t he?” Spy asks.

                “It was an interesting accident.” Lawrence says, “We ain’t mates, but we do have an understanding. The Pyros helped a great deal. Think he’s still a bit daft, confused.”

                Well, that’s to be expected. It’s not as though Spy could really verbalize a lot of his feelings and be understood completely… He has Pyro and Lawrence now, to bounce feelings and generalized thoughts. It wouldn’t be frequent, rare seemed most likely. Considering before Spy had no one he could relate to, not since he and Ignasi separated, it would do.

                “It’s not as though this makes us ‘mates’ either. But, you are welcome to come here, perhaps… chat.” Spy offers.

                “Would prefer it in my camper, but I suppose you’re going to be a nan- Well. Mongrel.” Lawrence says.

                “It would not be like me to suddenly prefer your company in your filthy van.” Spy says, “We have reputations, else, people will suspect we’re interested.”

                Lawrence makes a sound, and Spy almost thinks he’s about to spit. It makes him shiver, why do people have to spit? He saw no point in it, found it to be the most disgusting and frivolous action a man could do.  
                And he understands the _irony_.

                “You’re too much of a fancy pooftah for me.” Lawrence says, “Not that I’d like someone built like a brick shithouse, but you’re not my type.”

                Spy had many guesses on what Lawrence’s type was. To say so would end this relatively friendly chat. He had another comment, though the two of them find themselves interrupted by knocking. Spy rises, wondering who could be bothering them.  
                He’s not sure he’s surprised to see Miss Pauling.

                “Spy? Oh, and Sniper! Good, I don’t need to search for him! I need the both of you, with me. Now. It’s a mission and you’ll both be compensated.” She says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think by separating this into parts, I realized where I was going with this. Let's just say I restarted this, I had 3k words and I decided "nope, not gonna work"  
> Well I had fun.  
> Too bad it goes back to being serious next chapter. (I think it'll also be a two thing RED Sniper, but not 100% sold on the idea yet)  
>  the name of the lounge more of comes from the fact that people will use places to name their businesses.  
> Spy and Lawrence will have a chapter about their mission with Pauling, but you won't see it in this work.  
> Psst: trans Blu Spy has art by camiluna27 on tumblr: http://camiluna27.tumblr.com/post/163376663101/transspy-with-roses-commissioned-by


End file.
